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©1996 



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w^-^^ 



MORE POEMS 

BY 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 



McClelland & stewart 

Publishers — Toronto 



LmitaS, Toronto 



CONTENTS 



POEMS OK r(,1\VRR 



THE QCliLN's LAST HIDE . 
THE MEETING CF THE CENTrnil's 
'1«ATH HAS CROWNtD H.M A mahtvr 
GRIEP 
'LLl'srON 
A ^SERTION . 
1 AM 
WISHING 
\VE TWO 

THE I-OEI'S THEME 
SONG OP THE SPIKIT 
WOMANHOOD 
MORMNG PRAYER . 
THK VOICES OE THE PFOPLE 
THE WORLD GROWS l.l.ITER 
A MAN'S IDEAL 
THE PIRE BRIGAPE . 
THP TIDES ..." 
WHEN THK Rr.:r.l-,,ENT CAME Back' 
WOMAN TO MAN 
THE EARTH . 
^ NOW ... 
V'jL" ANL» TO-IAy . 



7 
9 

10 



'3 

'4 
'5 
'7 
IS 



21 
23 
=4 

25 

20 

27 

2S 



29 

29 



»i 



CONTENis 



!■"« «EA.SON 
MISSION 
KHPBTIririN . 
■KOIN I„H t,AV 
WOi;i)s 
'ATE AND I 
■IITAINMENI 
* '•l-lIA TO (.EACH 
^ ™«5rMPTION 
•"r.H NOON . 

SMILHS 

IHK DXnrscoVElIEl, CODNTl' 

•HE UNIVER.SAI. ROUTe 

Dnanswered PRAVErs 

THANKSGIVINO 

CONTRASTS . 

I"V tHIP . 

UPE. 

■ • 

* MA.ilNE ETClll.VG 
"LOVE rilVSKLF LA . 1 

CI'Ul.-TMAS FANCIES 

THE RIVER . 

SO.!"v 

AMBITIONS TRAIL 

DNCONTROLLED 

WILL 

TO AN ASTR0LOGi:« 
IHE TKNORlL's PAT,-; 
THE TIMES . 
THE QDESTION 

sorrow's 0S3S 



• .n 

■ Jl 

• .1 ■■ 

• 3J 

■ 33 

■ 31 

■ 35 
• 3(> 

■ 37 
- 38 

■ 40 
• ♦' 

■ 4J 

• 43 

• 45 

• 40 

- 47 

- 4S 
■ 4<J 

- 4') 

- 55 

- 52 

• 53 • 

■ 55 

■ 55 

■ 55 

• 57 

• 53 

• 59 

• 6o 

• 6i 
- 6j 



COXTENis 



W'lCH ARE YOD J 
I"« CRKKl: lo BE 
INSWHATION 
IlIJi WISH . 
THKKIi K^IENDS 
VOD NBVER CAN IE 
Iiniia AND NOW 
O.VCONgciiREU 
ALL THAT LOVJJ AS 
"does it PAy ?■' 
SE.STINA 
'im OPTIMIST 
THE PESSIMIST 
A" INSPIRATION 

'•"'e's Harmonies 
preparation 
oethsemaxe 
god's measure 

NOBLESSE OBLI.iE 
THHODOH TEARS 
WHAT WE NHEI) 
FLEA TO SCIL\ct 

RESPITE 

SONG _ 

MV SIMPS 

HER tOVC . 

IF . 

love's burial 

" LOVE IS EXODt:__ 

tip.'. IS A PRIVILEGE 

INSIGHT 

A WOMAN ANSWER 

THE WOKLD'S NEED 



r.6 . 
ij; 

f.8 

0.J 

7" 

71 

7» - 

7i 

7l 
74 
7j 
7(' 
77 
79 
79 



&(> 

87 

S8 
89 



92 
93 
95 ■ 
97. 



m 



CONTENTS 
rOEMs OF I'ROGRESS 



t-CVt s MIHAOR . 

THK NIID OF T.,p ,V0U D 

THE c.tLr STRIAM 

'•it«N OF mciy . 

LAIS WHFN VODNO 
t.A15 WHEN OLD . 
»)llSTt\CE 

HoLinAv soxci . 

ASTRcjl.ABroS 

COMPLETION 

«L«SPS TFPACHERV 

A«T vmiu Ct I ID . 

THF RavOLI OF VASllTI . 

HIE CHOOSING OF KSTHr» 

HONEYMOON SCKNE 

THE COST . 

THE VOICF 

god's ANf.WER 

THE ELICI OF THE SEX . 

THE WOELD.CHILD 

THE HEIGHTS 

CNMEINn •■THE llorsLOF ,r.,„.. 
A rHAVSR . . ■'- °'' J"-"-!' AT lIHRrcLANECM 

WHAT IS RIGHT LIVING ) 

JLSTICE 

TIME'S GAZE 

THE WORKER AND THE wrRK 

Al-T THOO ALIVE ? 

TODAy 



rAr« 

• 101 

• loa 

• 103 

■ ia» 

■ 105 

• 106 

■ 107 

• loH 

■ 108 

■ 1 10 
- 1 12 

• l.J - 

■ Ui .. 
- 116 

■ '-J 

■ U6 
1.10 
136 
'j8 
140 

')i 
Ml 

■■;4- 
■45 

i^r, ■ 

M7 
148 
'•13 
'30 
'51 
'5» - 



CONTENTS 



THI LAltLkH 

WHO II A eiimsilAN ? 

Till r.OAt . 

rHt trvn . 
awakrnh)! 
hiialowm . 

THE NIW C0MMAND!4liNT 
fVVtlSK } Hf. . 

Tim hreahino or chains 

OECKMHRK - 

" THE WAV " 

THE LEADER TO Bl 
THE CRIATBE LOVE 
TllANX OOO FOE LITE 
TIME BNODOR 
NEW VEAR'S DAY . 

in an old art gal.lbry 
Tkoe urotiierhooo 
the decadent 

LORD, SPEAX AGAiN 

MY HEAVEN 

LIFE 

GOLt KIN . 

CONQUEST . 

THE STATDE 

SIRICS 

AT FONTAINEBLEAU 

THE MASfiVRRADE 

SYMPATHY 

INTHRMEDIARY 

LIFE V CAR 

OPrOHTL'MTV 

THE AGE OF .MOIOIi;.u IIIINCE 



• '33 

• '3.1 

• 'S6 

• !57 

- "iS 

- lOo 
■ l6l 

- 162 

• Ifi3 

• 165 

- 166 
. 167 

- I08 

• 1O9 

• 170 

- i~i 

• TJ 

• '71 
■ 174 

• 17.5 
'77 
■ 78 
179 
:.So 
tSo 

kS2 

•"4 

183. 

ISJ 

186 

iS3 

1S9 

i8g 



CONTKNTS 



NEW YEAR. 
DISARMAMEMI 
THE CALL - 
A LITTLE SONG 



PAHB 

- 191 

- igi 

- I9.i 

- 193 



NEW THOUGHT PASTKLS 



A niALOGUE 

THE WEED . 

STRENGTH - 

AFKIRM 

THE CIIOSL'N 

THE NAMELESS 

THE WORD 

ASSISTANCE 

"CREDnLITY " 

CONSCIOUSNESS 

THE STRCCIDRE 

OUR SOULS 

THE LAW . 

KNOWLEDGE 

GIVE 

PERFECTION 

FEAR 

THE WAY . 

ONDERSTOOD 

HIS MANSION 

■EFECT 

THREE THINGS 

OBSTACLES 

FRAYER 

CLIMBING * 



195 
191, 

197 
197 
IqS 
199 
JCO 
201 
201 
202 
302 
203 
203 . 
204 
■ 205 
205 
306 
206 
207 
203 

208 
209 
209 

2IO' 
211 



CON'IENTS 



•■InERE IS .N„ 0,„„, TH.KE are KO DH^„■ 
REALtSAIlON 



POEMS OF EXPERIENCE 



THE EMPTY BOWL 

KEEP GOING 

A PRAYER . 

THE LONDON " DOIIBV " . 

READ AT THE BENeKir OP CLARA Ma 

TWO GHOSTS 

WOMAN . . ' 

BATTLE HYMN OP THE WOMEN l 

MEMORIES . 

SEE ? . . _ ' 

THE PCRPOSE . . [ 

THE WHITE MAN . 

A MOORISH MAID . 

LINCOLN . . _ ' 

I KNOW NOT 

INTERLUDE 

RESURRECTION 

THE VOICES OF THE CITY 

"' CHRIST CAME QUESTIONING 

ENGLAND, AWAKE ! 

BE NOT ATTACHED 

AN EPISODE 

THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS .' 

time's defeat 

THE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

THE RADIANT CHRIST 

AT BAY . . _ ' 

THE BIRTH OF JEALODSV . '. 



fAott 
211 ' 

"3 



222 



• 223 

• 224 

- 2^6 

• 229 

- 231 

■ ^33 

■ 234 
• 235 

■ 2j6 

- 237 

- 23S 

- 238 

• 239 

■ 240 

• 241 

■ 244 

245 

246 

247 

248 
252 
253 
256 
25S 
259 



CONTENTS 









rAr.H 


EOMMER'S FAREWELL - . . . . l6t 


THH GOAL .... 






. 263 


CHRIST CRUCIFIED 






. 264 


THE TRIP TO MARS 






. 267 


FICTION AND FACT 






2O9 


FROGRESS .... 






264 


now THE WHITE ROSE CAME 






270 


I LOOK TO SCIENCE 






271 


APPRECIATIOW 






272 


THE AWAKEMNG . 






272 


MOST BLEST IS HE 






2"-t 


NIRVANA .... 






275 


LIFE ... 






^,■6 


TWO MEN .... 






277 


ONLY BE STILL . 






-7» 


PARDONED OUT 






279 


THE TIDES .... 






syo 


PROGRESSION .... 






2S2 


ACguAlNIANCE ... 






283 


ATTAINMENT ... 






2bi 


THE TOWER-ROOM 






2.'54 


FATHER ..... 






2S5 


THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 






■^S7 



MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS 



MADRINE - 

dust-sealed 
"advice" 

OVER THE EANISTIiRi 
THE PAST • 
SECRETS ■ 



426 

438 
4J0 
4J0 



CONTENTS 



APfLADSH . 

THR STORY 

LBAN DOWy 

LIFE 

THK CHRISTIAN'S 

IN TUB NIr.HT 

A MARCH SNOW 

PHILOSOPHV 

"CARLOS " 

LA MORT D'aMODR 

love's sleep 
iroe ci'liope 

THE VOLCPTUARY 

THE COgOETTP 

LIPPQ 

LIKE IS LOVE 



AR PKAVER 



XUI 

rAct 
431 
432 
433 
434 
435 
43<J 
437 
43» 
438 
440 
442 
443 
444 
445 
440 

447 



■ 



POEMS OF POWER 



THE QUEEN'S LAST RIDE 
(written on the dav of quien VICTORIA'S fvneral) 
'T^'HE Queen is taking a drive to-day, 

X They have hung with purple the carriage-way. 
They have dressed with purple the royal track 
Where the Queen goes forth and never comes back. 

Let no mf.r labour as she goes by 
On her last appearance to mortal eye ; 
With heads uncovered let all men wait 
For the Queen to pass, in her regal state. 

Army and Navy shall lead the way 

For that wonderful coach of the Queen's to-day. 

Kings and Princes and Lords of the land 

Shall ride behind her, a humble band j 
And over the city and over the world ' 
Shall the Flags of all Nations be half-mast-furled. 
For the silent lady of royal birth 
Who is riding a v from the Courts of earth. 
Riding aivay from the world's unrest 
To a mystical goal, on a secret quest. 
J 



4 THE MEETING OF THE CENTURIES 

Though in royal splendour .he drives through town, 
Her robes are simple, she wears no crown : 
And yet she wears one, for, widowed no more. 
She is crowned with the love that has gone before, 
And crowned with the love s) e has left behind 
In the hidden depths of each mourner's mind. 
Bow low your heads-lift your hearts on high— 
The Queen in silence is driving by I 

THE MEETING OF THE CENTURIES 

A CURIOUS vision on mine eyes unfurled 
In the deep night. I saw, or seemed to see. 
Two Centuries meet, and sit down vis-i-via 
Across the great round table of the world : 
One with suggested sorrows ir his mien, 

And o-i his brow the furrowed lines of thought ; 
And one whose glad expectant presence brought 
A glow and radiance from the realms unseen. 
Hand clasped with hand, in silence for a space 
The Centuries sat ; the sad old eyes of one 
(As gr.ivc paternal eyes regard a son) 
Gazing upon th.it other eager face. 
And then a voice, as cadenceless and grey 
As the sei's monody in winter time. 
Mingled with tones melodious, as the chime 
Of bird choirs, singing in the dawns of May. 



THE MEETING OF THE CENTURIES 

THI OLD CENTURY IPEAKl 

By you, Hope stands. With me, Exrericnce walks. 

Like a fair jewel in a faded box, 

In my tear-rusted he.irt, siveet Pity lies. 

For all the dreams that look forth from your eyes, 

And those biight-hued ambition?, which I know ' 

Must fall like leaves and peris), in Time's snow, 

(Even as my soul's garden stands bereft,) 

I give you pity ! 'tis the one gift left. 

THE NEW CENTURY 

Nay, nay, goo.' friend ! not pity, but Godspeed. 
Here in the morning of my life I need. 
Counsel, and not condolence ; smiles, not tears. 
To guide me through the channels of the years. 
Oh, I am blinded by the blaze of light 
That shines upon me from the Infinite. 
liiurred is my vision by the close approach 
To unseen shores, whereon the times encroach. 

THE OLD CENTURY 

Illusion, all illusion. List and hear 
The Godless cannons, booming far and near. 
Fhunting the flag of Unbelief, with Greed 
For pilot, lo ! the pirate age in speed 
Be.irs on to ruin. War's most hideous crimes 
Besmirch the record of these modern times. 
Degenerate is the world I leave to you,— 
My happiest speech to earth will be— ,dieu. 



5 



6 THE MEETING Of THE CENTURIES 

THt NEW CENTL'«y 

You speak as one too weary to be just. 

I hear tht guns— I see the greed and lust. 

The death throes of a giant evil fill 

The air with riot and confusion. Ill 

Ofttimes malies fallow ground for Good ; and Wrong 

Build's Right's foundation, when it grows too strong. 

Pregnant with promise is the hour, and grand 

Tl>e trust you leave in my all-willing hand. 

THE OLD CENTURY 

As one who throws a flictering taper's ray 

To light departing feet, my shadowed way 

You brighten with youi faith. Faith makes the man. 

Alas, that my poor foolish age outran 

Its early trust in God I The death of art 

And progress follows, when the world's hard heart 

Casts out religion. "Tis the human brain 

Men worship now, and heaven, to them, means— gain, 

THE NEW CENTURY 

Faith is not dead, tho' priest and creed may p.iss, 
Fur thought has leavened the whole unthinking mass, 
And man looks now to find the God ^ thin. 
We shall talk more of love, and less of sin, 
In this new era. We are drawing near 
Unatlassed boundaries of a larger sphere. 
With awe, I wait, till Science leads us on, 
Into the full effulgence of its dawn. 



DEATH HAS CROWNED HIM A MARTYR 7 



DEATH HAS CROWNED HIM A MAR'l /R 

(*R.TT.N ON THE DAY OF PRKHDENT MClCINl.Y't DEaTh) 

IN the midst of lunny water,, lo ! the tnighty Ship 
of Slate 

Staggers, bruised and torn and wounded by a derelict of 
fate, 

One that drifted from it, moorings in the anchorage of 
hate. " 

On the deck our noble Pilot, in the glory of hi, prime, 
Lies in woe-.mpelling ,ilence, dead before his hcmr or 
time. 

Victim of a mind self-centred in a Gcdles, fool of crime. 

One of earth', dissension-breeders, one of Hate', un- 
reasoning tools. 

In the annals of the age,, when the world's hot anger 

cools, 
He who sought for Crime', distinction shall be known 

as Chief of Fool,. 

In the annals of the age,, he who had no thought of 
fame 

(Keeping on the path of duty, caring not for praise or 
blame), 

Close beside the deathless Lincoln, writ in i:;*-, ..il] 
shine his name. 



8 DEATH HAS CROWNED HIM A MARTYR 

Youth prochimed him u a hero; time, a itatesman i 

love, a man ; 
Death has crowned him aa a martyr, — to from goal to 

goal he ran, 
Knowing all the lum of glory that a human life may 

•pan. 

He wai choien by the people ; not an accident of 

birth 
Made him ruler of a nation, but his own intrinsic 

worth. 
Fools may govern over Itingdomi — not republics of the 

earth. 

He ha! raised the lovers' standard by his loyalty and 

faith, 
He has shown how virile manhood may keep free from 

scandal's brc.ich. 
He has gazed, with trust unshaken, in the awful eyes of 

Death. 

In the mighty march of progress he has sought to do liis 

best. 
Let his enemies be silent, as we lay him down to rest, 
And m.-iy God assuage the anguish of one sufieriiig 
woman's breast. 



GRIEF 



GRtEF 

AS the funeral ,r,in wi.h i„ honoured dc,d 
^ On It. mournful w.y went .weeping, 
While ..orrowful nation bowed its head 
And the whole world joined In weeping. 

Of the one fond "-eart despairing. 

And r ..id to myself, a. in truth I might, 
How sad ;nujt be this /,*«r/»^... 

To share the living with even Fame 

fo"-/ heart that i, only human, 
I. hard, when Glory asserts her claim 
Like a bold, insistent woman • 

Y" a g-cat, grand passion can put aside 
Or stay each selfish emotion. 

And watch, with . pleasure that spring, ,„„ ^jj. 

It. nval-the world's devotion. ^ ' 

But Death should render ,0 love it, own 
And my heart bowed down and sorrowed 

For the, tnclcen woman who wept alone 

Wh.le even her ^f^d was borrowed ■ 
Borrowed from her. the bride-.he wife^ 

For the world's la,t martial honour 
A, she sat in the gloom of her darkened life 

With her widow', grief fresh upon her ' 



GRIF.P 

He had ihed the ghry of Love «nd Fame 

In a golden halo about her ; 
She had ihared hii triumphi and worn hit name : 

But, alai ' he had died without her. 
He had wandered in many a diitant realm, 

And never had left her behind him, 
But now, with a ipectral ihipe at the helm, 

He had sailed where she could not find liim. 

It was only a thought, that came that day 

In the midst of the muffled drumming 
And funeral music and sad display, 

Tliat I knew was right and becoming 
Only a thought a- the moi rning train 

Moved, column after column. 
Bearing the dead to the burial plain 

With a reverence grand as solemn. 



ILLUSION 

GOD and I in space alone 
And nobody else in view. 
" And where are the people, O Lord." I s.iid, 
"The earth below, and the sky o'erhc^J, 

And the dead whom once I knew ?" 
"That was a dream," God STiilcd and said — 

" A dream that seei.'cd to ho true. 
There were no people, living or dead, 
There was no earth, an ' no sky o'crhcaJ j 

There was onlv Mvself — in you." 



ASSERTION ,, 

" Why do 1 feel no feir," I „ked, 

" Meeting You here thii way I 
For I hire linneH I know full well t 
And ii there heiven, and ii there hell, 

And ii ihit the judgment day l" 

" Say tho.e were but dream.," the Great GoJ ,aid. 

Dreams, that have ceaied to be. 
There are no luch thing, as fear or sin. 
There is no you-you never have been— 
There is nothing at all but Me." 



ASSERTrON 

r AM serenity. Though passions beat 

■■■ Like mighty billows on my helplcs heart 

I know beyond them lies the perfect sweet ' 

Serenity, which patience can impart. 
And when wild tempests in my bosom age 
" Peace, peace." I cry, « it i, my heritage." 

I am good health. Though fevers rack my hr.in 
And rude disorders mutilate my strength, 

A perfect restoration after pain, 

I know shall be my recompense at length 

And so through grievous day and sleepless ni-ht 

" Health, healch," I cry, "it i, my own by righ't." 



t I AM 

I am success. Though hungry, cold, ill-clad, 
I wander for awhile, I smile and say, 

" It is but for a time — I shall be glad 

To-morrow, for good fortune comes my way, 

God is my father. He has wealth untold, 

His wealth ii mine, health, happiness, and gold.' 



I AM 

IK' . DW not whence I came, 
I icnow not whither I go ; 
But the fart stands clear that I am here 

In this world of pleasure and woe. 
And out of the mist and murk 

Another truth shines plain — 

It is my pov/er each day and hour 

To add to its joy or its pain. 



I know that the earth exists, 

It is none of my business why ; 
I cannot find out what it's all about, 

I would but waste time to try. 
My life is a brief, brief thing, 

I am here for a little space. 
And while I stay I would like, if I may. 

To brighten and better the place. 



I AM 



>i 



The trouble, I think, with us all 

Is the laclc of a high conceit. 
If each man thought he was sent to this spot 

To make it a bit more sweet, 
How soon we could gladden the world, 

How easily right all wrong, 
If nobody shirked, and each one worked 

To help his fellows along ! 

Cease wondering why you came 

Stop looking for faults and flaws ; 
Rise up to-day in your pride and say, 

" I am part of the First Great Cause 
However full the world. 

There is room for an earnest man. 
It had need of me, or I would not be— 

I am here to strengthen the plan." 



WISHING 

DO you wish the world were better 
Let me tell you what to do : 
Set a watch upon your actions, 

Keep them always straight and true ; 
Rid your mind of selfish motives ; 

Let your thoughts be clean and high. 
You can make a little Eden 
or the sphere you occupy. 



14 WISHING 

Do you wish the world were wiser f 

Well, suppose you make a start. 
By accumulating wisdom 

In the scrapbook of your heart : 
Do not waste one page on folly ; 

Live f J learn, and learn to live. 
If you want to give men knowledge 

You must get it, ere you give. 

Do you wish the world were happy? 

Then remember day by day 
lust to scatter seeds of kindness 

As you pass along the way ; 
For the pleasures of the many 

May be ofttimes traced to one, 
As the hand that plants an acorn 

Shelters armies from the sun. 



WE TWO 

WE t«o make home of any place we go ; 
We two find joy in any kind of vveullier ; 
Or if the earth is clothed in bloom or snow, 
If summer days invite, or bleak winds blow, 
What matters it if we two are together? 
We two, we two, we make our world, our weather. 

We two make banquets of the plainest fare ; 
In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure ; 

We hide with wreaths the furrowed bro« of care. 



WE TWO 

And win to smiles the set lips of despair. 
For us life always moves with lilting measure j 
We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure. 

We two find youth renewed with every dawn j 
Each day holds something of an unknown glory. ' 

We waste no thought on grief or pleasure gone ■ 

Tricked out like hope, time leads us on and on' 
And thrums upon his harp new song or story. 
We two, we two, we find the paths of glory. ' 

We two make heaven here on this little earth ; 

We do not need to wait for realms eternal. 

We know the use of tears, know sorrow's worth, 
And pain for us is always love's rebirth. 

Our paths lead closely by the paths supernal ; 

We two, we two, hc live in love eternal. 



•5 



THE POET'S THE.ME 

"What i, ,he , ana.ion „t ,he strange sllcn.. „, 
American poets conccrn,:,g American i,i„mphs on sea ami 
land V'-Liierary Digest. *< * on sea and 

VyHY should the poet of these pregnant times 

T r Be asked to s.ng of war's unholy crimes ? 
To laud and eulogise the trade which thri.es 
On horrid holocausts of huinan lives? 

Man was a fighting beast when earth was youi-.e 
And war the only theme when Homer sun». 



i6 THE POETS THEME 

•Twixt might and might the equti contest lay, 
Not 90 the battles of our modern day. 

Too often now the conquering hero struts 
A Gulliver among the Liliputs, 

Success no longer rests on skill or fate. 
But on the movements of a syndicate. 

Of old men fought and deemed it right and just. 
To day the warrior fights because he must. 

And in his secret soul feels shame because 
He desecrates the higher manhood's laws. 

Oh ! there are worthier themes for poet's pen 
In this great hour, than bloody deeds o( ir,en 

Or triumphs of one hero (though he be 
Deserving song for his humility) : 

The rights of many— not the worth of one ; 
The coming issues— not the batlle done; 

The awful opulence, and awful need ; 
The rise of brotherhood— thr fall of greed, 

The soul of man replete with God's own force, 
The call " to heights," ar-d not the cry " to horsc,"- 

Are there not better themes in this great age 
For pen of poet, or for voice of sage 



SONG OF THE SPIRIT 



<7 



Than those old tales of killing ? Song is dumb 
Only that »reater song in time may come. 

When comes the bard, he whom the world waits for. 
He will not sing of War. 



SONG OF THE SPIRIT 

ALL the aim of life is just 
Getting back to God. 
Spirit casting off its dust, 
Getting back to God. 
Every grief we have to bear 
Disappointment, cross, despair 
Each is but another stair 
Climbing back to God 

Step by step and mile by mile 

Getting back to God ; 
Nothing else is worth the while— 

Getting back :o God. 
Light and shadow fill each da;.', 
Joys and sorrows pass away, 
Smile at all, and smilini', sav, 

Getting back to God. 

Do not wear a mournful fice 

Getting back to God ; 
Scatter sunshine on the place 

Going back to God; 




lit 



It 



WOMANHOOD 
Tiit wh.t pleasure you can find. 

But where'er your path, maj- wind, 
Keep the purpose wel! in mind,— 
Getting back to God. 



WOMANHOOD 

CHE mu« be honest, both in thought and deed. 
y Of generous impulse, and abo.e all greed • 

But bfe s best blessing, for her higher self, 
Which means the best for all. 

She must have faith 
To make good friends of Trouble, Pa'in. and Death 
And understand their message. 
She should be 
As redolent with tender sympathy 
As is a rose with fragrance. 

Cheerfulness 
Should be her mantle, even though her dres, 
May be ot Sorrow's weaving. 
On her face 
A loyal nature leaves its seal of grace 
And chastity is in her atmosphere. 

Not that chillchastity which seems austere 

(f^'ke untrod .now-peaks, lovely to behold 

Till onceattained-then barren, loveless, cold)- 



MORNING PRAYER 



All these unite in "r '^""""S good, 

unite in perfect womanhood. 



•9 



MORNING PRAYER 



L^A"Ve°"'7 '""""'■'"«"'«""" take 

Or thoughtless word, the heart nf r 
Nor would I nass „„ "" °'^'°e or friend : 

a 1 pass, unseeing, worthy need 

However .eagre be „y„oHdlyweitt 

Aixrr:;^:!;^";'"^^*'''"^^'"''-- 

J^oppedasI^rL\tredtt':'«, 
L.^m=.^„lght loo. back .cross tie J r'"''- 
1 wut dawn and dart and fo „. 

B--rso.egooda^\;ta:t™or:::r'"'^- 

The world is better that I hVedt"d;~. 



ao THE VOICES OF THE I'EOJ'LE 



THE VOICES OF THE PEOPLE 

OH ! I hear the people calling through the day time 
and the night time, 
They are tailing, they are crying for the coming of the 

light time. 
It behooves you, men and women, it behooves you to 

be heeding, 
For there lurks a note of menace underneath their 
plaintive pleading. 

Let the land usurpers listen, let the greedy-hearted 
ponder. 

On the meaning of the murmur, rising here and swelling 

yonder, 
Swelling louder, waxing stronger, like a storm-fed stream 

that courses 
Through the /aUeys, down abysses, growing, gaining with 

new forces. 

Day by day the river widens, that great river of opinion 
And Its torrent beats and plunges at the base of greed's 
dominion. 

Though you dam it by oppression and fling golden 

bridges o'er it, 
yet the day and hour advances when in fright you'll flee 

before it. 



fME WORLD GROWS BETTER 



THE WORLD GROWS BETTER 

QH! the earth is full of ,i„„i 

B"t the devi, „,,„,„ -' 

Every rime „e say it', so. 
And the w,,y to set him scowling, 

And to pu, him back a pace 
Is 'o stop this stupid growling,' 

A"d to look things in the Lc. 
i/'you glance at history's pages 
I" a'l lands and eras known' 
Vou will find the buried age, 
t» more wicked than our own. 



THE WORLD GROWS BETTER 

Ai you tcan each word and letter, 

Vou will realise it more, 
That the world to-day it better 

Than it ever wai before. 

There is much that needs amending 

In the present time, no doubt ; 
There is right that needs amending, 

There is wrong needs crushing out. 
And we hear the groans and curses 

Of the poor who starve and die, 
While the men with swollen purses 

In the place of hearts go by. 

But in spite of all the trouble 

That obscures the sun to-day. 
Just remember it was double 

In the ages passed away. 
And those wrongs shall all be righted, 

Good shall dominate the land, 
For the darkness now it lighted 

By the torch in Science's hand. 

Forth from little motes in Chaos, 

We have come to what we are ; 
And no evil force can stay us — 

Wc shall mount from star to star. 
We shall break each bond and fetter 

That has bound us heretofore ; 
And the earth is surely better 

Than it ever was before. 



A MAN'S IDEAL 



»3 



A MAN'S IDEAL 

A LOVELY litde keeper of the homr. 
J-X Absorbed in menu boob, yet erudite 
When I need counsel ; quick „ „partee 
And slow to anger. ModeH as a flower, 
Vet scintillant and radiant a< a star. 
Unmerccnary in her mould of mind, 
Wnile opulent and dainty in her ta/tes. 
A nature generous and free, albeit 
The incarnation of economy. 
She must be chaste as proud Diana »a». 
Yet warm as Venus. To all others cold 
A, some white glacier glittering in the sun ; 
I o me as ardent as the sensuous rose 
That yields it, sweetness to the burrowing bee 
All Ignorant of evil in the world, 
And innocent as any cloistered nun. 
Vet wi-ea. Phrvneintheartsoflove 
When I tome thirsting to her nectared lip, 
Good as the best, and tempting as the worst, 
A saint, a siren, and a paradox. 




' i 




THK FIRE BRIUADR 



H 



THE FIRE BRIGADE 



ARK I hiili 



o'er the raltleind cl 



or trjilic-iillcd itrccn, du 



And pu»l 



noise ? 



lamniirand clittcr 
you hc«r that loud 



pmhiiig and rushing to see wfut's tl 



tike hcrJt of wild cattli 



lie matter. 



Ic, go pell-mell the bov 



The 



i a fir 



the 



The bold bells are cli 



th 



e engines are cominc • 



street 



"ging, " Make 



ng! 
way in the 



The wheels of the h 



lose-cart are 



, . , - spinning and humming 

In time to the music of galloping feet. 

Make way there ! make way there ! the horse, are flying 
The sparks from their iwift hoofs shoot high 
higher, 
The crowds are increasing 



ler and 



ig— the 



Hooray, boys !" " Hooray, boy 



g.imins arc crvi 



the fire ! 



■si- 



ng : 
'' Come o 



With clanging and banging and clatter and rattle 

The long ladder, follow the engine and hose. 
The men arc all ready to dash into battle ; 

But will they come out again .' God only knows. 
At windows and doorways crowd que tioning faces; 
There's something about it that quickens Jne's 
breath. 

How proudly the brave fellows sit in their places- 
And speed to the conflict that may be their death ! 



5'ill fiijter a„J ji 



THE FIRE BRIGADE 



"TAe grind hnn, 



r-'" ».,j ,;„,„ .,„d ,,„, 



The red 
Turn 



«» Ihiinder and 



'« i» yonder, „„d 
oui there, bold 



■•'P on thflf KM 



Iratii, 



•" o"^' the lomi ,r,a.l„„„ 



F've the m.jier ; 
-'I'm out there, I ,'j, i 



maiter. 



lllOUi 



oath; 



And 



>s Hi;i 



Th:'::;:::':' '""•—" yield, to h 



' efgines are 

<t Jtrcet car and truck 



coin in 



Thev 



ipced lili 



Th 



The boys foil, 



■e a comet- 



'« • let pleasure-crowd. 
' •"»" »'"i mail wagg, 



IS scatter 



•they pa 



us in a m 



Th 



""nmonpli 



'""' on like a tail ,o , I,; 



iiiiute: 



'e great fire 



J'ce street has but traffi 



enginci have 



ite ; 
ic now in 



iivept out of 



iighl 



THE TIDES 

, " /°"f "iieshold affair. h,.i- 

''"''""-''"-"'"^'^^routofi:;:;':^'-'- 

Ce careful what folliesvoutc -sin IT. 



m 



26 'VllEN THE REGIMENT CAME BACK 



WHEN THE REGIMENT CAME BACK 

ALL the uniforms were blue, all the swords were 
bright and new, 
When the regiment went marching down the street, 
All the men were hale and strong as they proudly 
muvcd along, . 

Through the cheers that drowned the music of their 

Oh the music of the feel keeping t,me to drums that 
beat. 

Oh the splendour and the glitter of the sight, 
A, with swords and rifles new and in uniforms oi blue 

The regiment went marching to the fight ! 

When the regiment came back all the guns and sw^rd. 
were black 
And the uniforms had faded out to grey, 
And the faces of the men who marched through that 
street again 
Seemed like faces of the dead who lose their way. 
For the dead who lose their way cannot look more 
wan and gray. ^ 

Oh the sorrow and the pity of the sig. ', 
Oh the weary lagging feet out of step with drums 
that beat, 
As the regiment comes marching t..,m the fight. 



WOMAN TO MAN 



»7 



'A'OMAN TO MAN 
"Woman is man's enemy, riva), and competitor."— JOHN 

J. INGAI.LS. 

You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well. 
How could the hand be enemy of the aim, 
Or seed and sod be rivals ! How could light 
Feel jealousy of heat, plant of the leaf, 
Or competition dwell "twixt lip and smile f 
Are we not part and parcel of yourselves i 
Like strands in one great braid we entertwine 
And make the perfect whole. You could not be, 
Unless we gave you birth; we are the soil 
From which you sprang, yet sterile were that soil 
Save as you planted. (Though in the Book we read 
One woman bore a child with no man's aid. 
We find no record of a man-child bora 
Without the aid of woman ! Falherhood 
Is but a small achievement at the best, 
While motherhood comprises heaven and hell.) 
This ever-growing argument of sex 
Is most unseemly, and devoid of sense. 
Why waste more time in controversy, when 
There is not time enough for all of love. 
Our rightful occupation in this life i 
Why prate of our defects, of where we fail. 
When just the story of our worth would need 




28 



WOMAN TO MAN 

Eternity for telling, and our best 

Development comes ever tiirougl, your praise, 

As through our pnise you reach your highest seli' 

Oh ! had you not beeji miser of you. praise 

And let our virtues be their own reward, 

The old-established order of the world 

Would never have been changed. Small bla^.n- i. 

ours 
For this unscxlng of ourselves, a„d worse 
Fffominlsirig of the male. We were 
Content, sir, till you starved us, heart and brain. 
All we have done, or wise, or otherwise 
Traced to the root, was done for love of vou. 
I-et us taboo all vain comparisons, 
And go fort- as God meant us, hand in hand 
Companions, mates, and comrades evermore ; ' 
IVo parts of one divinely ordained whole. 



THE EARTH 

THE earth is yours and mine. 
Our God's bequest. 
That testament divine 
Who dare contest I 

Usurpers of the earth, 

We claim our share. 
We are of royal birth. 

Beware ! bew are ! 



NOW 

Unloose the hand of greed 
from God's fair land. 

We claim but what ,vc need^ 
That, We demand. 



»9 



f^' 



NOW 

lr^™-=-t';^r 

I..l^ one blindfolded gr„,-i„g out his war 
J -1! not tr>. to touch beyond ,o.dau " 

i.."ceal the future;, concealed from sight 
'need but stnve to make the next step rt,,r 

Thatdone.the,.ext.andsoon,tilUfi„j" 

Perchance some day I a,n no lo^g.r bhV 1 

Anci looUng up. behoM a radiant^Fri ' ' 

Who says, ..R.t, no., feryouha.ereacLj .,.„„,. 



VOU A.\D TO-D.\/ 



ITU 



every rising of the sun 



Wtu- , ■• ""■' 

^ ih>„k of your life as just begt,, 
The past has shrived and buried deep 
All yesterdays-there let ti.en, sleep, 



30 



YOU AND TO-DAY 

Nor seek to summon back one ghost 
Of that innumerable host. 

Concern yourself with but to-day ; 
Woo it an J teath it to obey 

Your wish and will. Since time began 
To-day has been the friend of man. 

But in his blindness and his sorrow 
He looks to yesterday and to-morrow. 

Vou and to-day ! a soul kubllme 
And the great pregnant hour of lime. 

With God between to bind the train, 
Go forth, I say— attain — attain. 



THE REASON 

DO you know wliat moves the tides 
As they swing from low to high > 
•Tii the love, love, love, 

Of the moon within the sky. 
Oh I they follow where she guides. 
Do the faithful-hearted tides. 



MISSION 

Do jrou know what moves the earth 
Out of winter into spring f 

'Tis the love, love, love, 

Of the sun, the might)' king. 

Oh the rapture that finds birth 

In the kiss of sun and earth ! 

Do you know what makes sweet songs 
Ring for me above earth's strife f 

'Tie the love, love, love, 

That you bring Into my life. 

Oh the glory of the songs 

In the heart where love belongs 1 



3> 



MISSION 

IF you are sighing for a lofty work. 
If great .imbitions dominate your mind. 
Just watch yourself and sec you do nut shirk 
The common little ways ot being kind. 

if you are dreaming of a future goal. 

When, crowned wit!i glory, men shall own your 
power, 
Be careful that you let no struggling soul 

Go by unaided ir. the present hour. 

If you are moved to pity for the earth, 

And long to aid it, do not look so high. 
You pass some poor, dumb creature faint with thirst — 

All life li eijual in the eternal eye. 




5* KEPKTITION 

if yu..vouU help to mak. the wrong .hfngsrlglu, 

Beg,„ at home : there lie, a lifetime's toil 
Weed your own garden fair for all me.,', si„ht 
Before you plan to tin another's soil. ° ' 
God chooses His own leaders in the world 

And from the rest He asks but willing ha„d« 
A. m,ghty mountains into place are hurled, 
Wh,k. pat,ent tides may onlv .hape the sand. 



REPETITION 
/^\ER and over and over 

hat God's great plan needs you and me 
1 Hat will is greater than destiny, 

And that love moves the world along, 
li.'wever mankind may doubt it. 

It shall listen and hear my cre'eJ— 
That God may ever be found within 
i l.at the worship of self is the only sin 
And the only dcvi! is greed 

Over and over and over 

These truths I will say and sing. 
That love is mightier far than hate 
That a man's own thought i, a .nan's own f.tc. 
And that life ,s a goodly thing. 



BEGIN THE DAY 

BEGIN THE DAY 
TJ EGIN each morning with a talk to God, 
^-f And ask for your divine i iheritancc 
Ot usefulness, contentment, ana success 
Resign all fear, all doubt, and all despair 
The stars doubt not, and they are undi-maved. 
Though whirled through space for counties ccu.unes. 
And told not why or wherefore : and the sea 
With everlasting ebb and flow obeys. 
And leaves the purpose with the unseen Cause 
The star sheds radiance on a million »„rlds, 
T he sea is prodigal with waves, and yet 
No lustre from the star is lost, and not 
One drop is missing from the ocean tides 
Oh ! brother to the star and sea, know all 
God's opulence is held in trust for tho^e 
Who wait serenely and who work in faith. 

WORDS 
"lyORDS are great forces in the realm of life • 
y Be careful of their use. Who talks of hate. 
Of poverty, of sickness, but sets rife 

These very elements to mar his fate. 
When love, health, happiness, and plenty hear 

Their names repeated over day by day 
They wing their way like answering fairies near. 
Then nestle down within onr homes to stay. 



3.' 




34 



FATE AND! 

Who talks of evil conjures Into shape 

The formless thing and gives it life and scope. 

This it the law : then let no word escape 
'i'hat Joes not breathe of everlasting hope. 



FATE AND I 

WISE men tell me thou, O Fate, 
Art invincible and great. 

Well, I own thy prowess j still 
Dare I flout thee with my will. 
Thou canst shatter in a span 
All the earthly pride of man. 
Outward things thou canst control ; 
But stand back — I rule my soul ! 

Death ! 'Tis such a little thing — 
Scarcely worth the mentioning. 

What has death to do with me, 
Save to set my spirit free ? 

Something in me dwells, O Fate, 
That can rise and dominate. 
Loss, and sorrow, and disaster, — 
How, then. Fate, art thou my master? 

In the great primeval morn 
My immortal will was born, 



FATE AND I 

Part of that stupendous Cau^c 
Which conceived the Solar Laws, 

Lit the suns and filled the seas, 
Royileit of pedigrees. 

That great Cause was Love, the Sotin.e 
Who most loves has most of Force. 

He who harbours H.itc one hour 
Saps the soul of Peace and Power. 

He who will not hate his foe 
Need not dread life's hardest blow. 

Li the realm of brotherhood 
Wishing no man aught but good, 

Naught but good can come to me— 
This is love's supreme decree. 

Since I bar my door to Hate, 
What have I to fear, O Fate f 

Since I fear not — Fate I vow, 
I the ruler am, not thou I 



3S 




■i 1 



ATTAINMENT 

USE all your hidden forces. Do not miss 
The purpose of this life, and do not wait 
For circumstance to mould or change )our fate ; 
In your own self lies Destiny. Let this 



36 A PLF.A TO PEACE 

ViH truth cast out all fcir, all prejudice, 
All hesitation. Know that yo" are great, 
Great with divinity. So dominate 
Envirnnmcnt, and enter into bliss. 
Love l.irgcly and hate i jthing. Hold no aim 
That does not chord with universal good. 
Hear what the voices of the Silence say- 
All joys arc yours if you put forth your claim. 
Once let the spiritual laws be understood, 
Material things must answer and obey. 



A PLEA TO PEACE 

WHEN mighty issues loom before us, all 
The petty great men of the day seem 'null, 
Like pigmies standing in a blaze of light 
Before some grim mijcstic mountain-height. 
War, with its bloody and impartial hand. 
Reveals the hidden weakness of a land. 
Uncrowns the heroes trusting Peace has made 
Of men whose honour is a thing of trade. 
And turns the searchlight full on many a place 
Where proud conventions iong have masked disgnice. 
O lovely Peace 1 as thou art fair be wise. 
Demand great men, and great men shall arise 
To do thy bidding. Even as warriors come, 
Swift at the call of bugle and of drum, 



J7 



A PLEA TO PEACE 

So at the voice of Pcare, impcr«tiv(! 

At bugle's call, shall heroes spring to live 

For country and for thee. In every land. 

In every age, men are what times demand. 

Demand the best, O Peace, and teach thy sons 

They need not rush in front of death-charged guns 

With murder in their hearts to prove their worth. 

The grandest heroes who have graced the earth 

Were love-filled souls who did not seek the fray, 

But chose the safe, hard, high, and lonely way 

Of selfless labour for a suffering world. 

Beneath our glorious flag again unfurled 

In victo.y such heroes wait to be 

Called into bloodless action, Peace, by thee. 

Be thou insistent in thy stern demand. 

And wise, great men thall rise up in the land. 



PRESUMPTION 

WHENEVER I am prone to doubt or wonder — 
I check myself, and say, "That mighty One 
Who made the solar system cannot blunder — 
And for the best all things are being done." 
Who set the stars on their eternal courses 

Has fashioned this strange earih by some sure plan. 
Bow low, bow low to those m.ijestic forces. 
Nor dare to doubt their wisdom, puny man. 

4 




3» 



PRESUMPTION 



You cannot put one little it«r in motion, 

You c«nnot iliape nnc single forc.-t IciT, 
Nor fling i mouniiin up, nor link an ocean, 

Prcumptuouj pigmy, large with unbelief. 
You cannot bring one dawn of regal iplcndour, 

Nor bid the day to shadowy twilight fall. 
Nor send the pale moon forth with radiance tender^ 

And dare you doubt the One who hai done all J 

"So much is wrong, there is such pain — su^h sinnin;.' 

Yet look again — behold how much Is rig!i: ! 
And He who formed the world from its beginning 

Knows how to guide it upward to the light. 
Your task. O man, is not to carp and cavil 

At God's achievements, but w'th purpose strong 
To cling to good, and turn away from evil. 

That i» the way to help the world along. 



HIGH NOON 

TIME'S finger on the dial of my life 
Points to high noon 1 and yet the half-spent day 
Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark, 
Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end. 
To those who burn the candle to the stick. 
The spluttering socket yields but little lighc 
Long life is sadder than an early death. 
We cannot count on ravelled threads of age 



HIGH NOON 

Whereof to weive ■ fabric. Wc rnu^t use 
The warp and woof the reijy present yiekls 
And toil wliile dayli|;ht lasts. When I bethink 
Hmv brief the |>j«t, the future, itill more hrlcf, 
Cills on to aclinn, action ! Not for me 
U time for retrospection or for dreams, 
Not time for sclf-laudjtlon or remcjrse. 
Hive I done nobly ? Then I must not let 
Head yesterday iinb"rn tn-nvirroiv shame. 
Have I done wrong.' Well, let the bitter t. -s 
Of fruit thai turned to ashes on mv lip 
Be my remin.ler in temptati.m's hour. 
And keep mc silent when I wouM cDndcnin. 
Sometimes it takes the acid of « sin 
To cleanse the clouded winduus t,t . .r souU 
So pity may shine through them. 

Looking back, 
My faults and errors seem like stepping .tone-, 
That led the way to knowledge of the truth 
And made me value virtue ; sortyws shine 
In rainbow colours o'er the gulf of yeais, 
W'hcre lie forgotten pleasures. 

Iioiiluig fjrth, 
Out to the western sky still bright with noon, 
I feel well spurred and booted for the strife 
That ends nn till Nirvana is attained. 
Battling with fitc, -.viih men, and with myself. 
Up the steep summit of my life's forenoon, 



39 




I 



^° 



THOUGHT-MAGNETS 



Three things I learned, three things of precious ivorth, 

To guide and help me down the western slope. 

I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save : 

To pray for courage to receive what comes, 

Knowing what comes to be divinely sent j 

To toil for universal good, since thus 

And only thus can good come unto me } 

To save, hy giving whatsoever I have 

To those who have not — this alone is gain. 



THOUGHT-MAGNETS 

WITH each strong thought, with every earnest 
longing 
For aught thou dcemcst needful to thy soul, 
Invisible vast forces are set thronging 
Between thee and that goal. 

'Tis only when some hidden weakness alters 
And changes thy desire, or makes it less. 

That this mysterious army ever falters 
Or stops short of success. 

Thought is a magnet j and the longed-for pleasure, 
Or boon, or aim, or object, is the steel ; 

And its attainment hangs but on the measure 
Of what thy soul can feel. 



SMILES 



SMILES 



SMILE a little, smile a little, 
As you go aluiig, 
Not alone when life is pleasant, 

But when things go wrung. 
Care delights to see you frowning, 

Loves to hear you sigh ; 
Turn a smiling face upon her— 
Quick the dame will fly. 

Smile a little, smile a little, 

All along the road ; 
Every life must have its burden, 

Every heart its load. 
Why eii down in gloom and d^r'.ness 

With your grief to sup ? 
As you drink Fate's bitter tonic, 

Smile across the cup. 

Smile upon the troubled pilgrims 

Whom you pass and meet ; 
Frowns are thorns, and smiles are blossumi 

Oft for weary feet. 
Do not make the way seem harder 

By a sullen face ; 
Smile a little, smile a little, 

Brighten up the place. 



M 



i. 



M i I 



4» THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 

Smile upon your undone labour ; 

Not for one who grieves 
D'er his tasic waits wealth or glory ; 

He who smiles achieves. 
Though you meet with loss and sorrow 

In the passing years, 
Smile a little, smile a little. 

Even through your ceari. 



THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY 

MAN has explored all countries and all lands, 
And made his own the secrets of each clime. 
Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime, 
The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands, 
The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands. 
And even the haughty elements, sublime 
And bold, yield him the' • secrets for all time, 
And speed like lackeys forth at his commands. 

Still, though he search from shore to distant shore, 
And no strange realms, no unlocated plains 

Are left for his attainment and control, 

Vet is there one more kingdom to explore. 
Go, know.thyself, O man ! there yet remains 

The undiscovered country of thy soul ! 



THE UNIVERSAL ROUTE 



THE UNIVERSAL ROUTE 



43 



AS we journey along, with a laugh and a long, 
We see, on youth's flower-decked slope, 
Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight, 
The beautiful Station of Hope. 

But the wheels of old Time roll along as we climb, 
And onr youth speedi, away on the years ; 

And with hearts that are numb v>ith life's sorrows we 
come 
To the miit-covertd Station of Tears, 

Still onward we pass, where the milestones, alas ! 

Are the tombs of our dead, to the West, 
Where glitters and gleams, in the dying sunbeams, 

The sweet, silent Station of Rest. 

All rest is but change, and nr> grave can estrange 

The soul from its Parent above ; 
And, scorning the rod, it soars back to its God, 

To the limitless City of Love. 



UNANSWERED PRAYERS 

LIKE some schoolmaster, kind in being stern, 
Who hears the children crying o'er their slates 
And calling, " Help me, master !" yet helps not, 
Since in his silence and refusal lies 
Their self-development, so God abides 




♦4 UNANSWERED PRAYERS 

Unheeding many praj-cri He is not deaf 
To any cry sent up from earnest hearts j 
He hears and strengthens when he mus't deny 
He sees us weeping over life's hard sums j 
But should He give the key and dry our tears 
What would it profit us when school were done 
And not one lesson mastered ? 

What a world 
Were this if all our prayers were answered. Not 
In famed Pandora's box were such vast ills 
As lie in human hearts. Should our desires, 
Voiced ons by one in prayer, ascend to God, 
/Vnd come back as events shaped to our wish. 
What chaos would result 1 

In my fierce vouth 
I sighed out breath enough to move a fleet, 
Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied' boons 
Which were denied ; and that denial bends 
My knee to prayers of gratitude each day 
Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayeis 
I rose always regirded for the strife 
And conscious of new strength. Pray on, sad heart 
That which thou pleadest for may not be given. 
But in the lofty altitude where souls 
Who supplicate God's grace are lifted, there 
Thou Shalt find help to bear thy daily lot 
Which is not elsewhere found. 



THANKSGIVING 



45 



THANKSGIVING 

"II^E walk on starry field, of white 

» y And do not see the daisies. 
For blessings common in our sight 

We rarely offer praises. 
We sigh tor some supreme delight 

To crown our lives with splendour, 
And quite ignore our daily store 

Of" pleasures sweet and tender. 

Our cares are bold and push their way 

L'pon our thought and feeling ; 
They ;.ang about us all the day. 

Our time from pleasure stealing. 
So unobtrusive many a joy 

We pass by and forget it. 
But worry strives to own our lives 

And conquers if we let it. 

There's not a day in all the year 

But holds some hidden pleasure. 
And, looking back, joys oft appear 

To brim the past's wide measure. 
But blessings are like friends, I hold, 

Who love and labour near us. 
We ought to raise our notes of praise 

While living hearts can hear us. 



THANKSGIVING 

Full many a blessing wears the guise 

Of worry or of trouble ; 
Far-seeing is tlie soul, md wise, 

Who knows the mask is double. 
But he who has the faith and strength 

To thank his God for sorrow 
Has found a joy without alloy 

To gladden every morrow. 

We ought to mate the moments notes 

Of happy, glad Thamksgiving ; 
The hours and days a silent phrase 

Of music we are living. 
And so the theme should swell and grow 

As weeks and months pass o'ej us, 
And rise sublime at this good time, 

A grand Thanksgiving chorus. 



CONTRASTS 

I SEE the tall church steeples— 
They reach so far, so far ; 
But the eyes of my heart see the world's great mart 
Where the starving people are. 

I hear the church bells ringing 
Their chimes on the morning air ; 
But my soul's sad ear is hurt to heat 
The poor man's cry of despair. 



THY SHIP 



47 



Thicker ind thicker the churchei. 
Nearer »iid nearer the »ky — 
But alack for their creedi while the poor man'i need» 
Grow deeper a» years roll by I 



THY SHIP 

HADST thou a ship, in whose vast hold lay stored 
The priceless riches of all climes and lands, 
Say, wouldst thou let it float upon the seas 
Unpiloted, of fickle winds the sport, 
And of wild waves and hidden rocks the prey ? 

Thine is that ship ; and in its depths concealed 
Lies all the wealth of this vast universe- 
Yea, lies some part of God's omnipotence. 
The legacy divine of every soul. 
Thy will, O man, thy will is that great ship. 
And yet behold it drifting here and there- 
One moment lying motionless in port. 
Then on high seas by sudden impulse flung, 
Then drying on the sands, and yet again 
Sent forth on idle quests to no-man's land 
To carry nothing and to nothing bring j 
Till, worn and fretted by the aimless strife 
And buBfeted by vacillating winds. 
It founders on a rock, or springs a leak, 
With all its unused treasures in the hold. 



+8 



LIFE 

Go save ihy «hip, thou iluggirJ j take the wIkcI 
And steer to knowledge, glory, and success. 
Great mariners have made the pathway plain 
For thee to follow ; hold thou to the course 
Of Concentration Channel, ^r.^l all things 
Shall come in answer to thy swcrveless v\i>h 
As comes the needle to the m.ignet's call. 
Or sunlight to the prisoned blade of grass 
That yearns all winter for the kiss of spring. 



LIFE 

ALL in the dark we grope along, 
And if we go amiss 
We learn at least which path is wrong. 

And there is gain in this. 
We do njt always win the race 

By only running right ; 
We have to tread the mountain's base 

Before we reach its height. 
The Christs alone no errors made ; 

So often had they trod 
The paths that lead through light and shade, 

They had become as God. 
As KKshna, Buddha, Christ again, 

They passed along the way. 
And left those mighty truths which men 

But dimly grasp to-day. 



"LOVE THYSELF LAST" t9 

But he who loves himself the last 

And knows the use of pain, 
Though strewn with errors all his past, 

He surely shall attain. 

Some souls there are that needs must taste 

Of wrong, ere choosing right j 
We should not call those years a waste 

Which led us to the light. 



A MARINE ETCHING 

A YACHT from its harbour ropes pulled free. 
And leaped like a steed o'er the race-track blue, 
Then up behind her the dust of the sea, 
A gray fog, drifted, and hid her from view. 



" LOVE THYSELF LAST " 

LOVE thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty 
To those who walk beside thee down life's road. 
Make glad their days by little acts of beauty 
And help them bear the burden of earth's load. 

Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger 
Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair ; 

Go, lend a hand, and lead him out of danger. 
To heights where he may see the world is fair. 



50 CHRISTMAS FANCIES 

I,ov« thyself Ust. The v»stne:.8es above thee 
Are filled with Spirit-Forces ; strong md pure 

And fervently these faitl-ful friends sh»ll love thee : 
Keep thou thy watch o'er others and endure. 

Love thyself Ust, and oh I such joy shall thrill thee 

As never yet to selfish souls was given ; 
Whatc'er thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee, 

And earth shall seem the ante-room of Heaven. 
Love thyself last, and thou shalt grow in spirit 

To see, to hear, to know, and understand. 
The message of the stars, lo, thou shalt hear it, 

And all God's joys shall be at thy cammand. 



CHRISTMAS FANCIES 

WHEN Christmas bells are - nging above the 
fields of snow, 
We hear sweet voices ringing fron :ands of long ago, 
And etched on vacant places 
Are half-forgotten faces 
Of friends wc used to cherish, and loves we used to 

know — 
When Ciiristmas bells are swinging above the fields of 

snow. 
Uprising from the ocean of the present surging near, 
We see, with strange emotion, that is not free from 
fear, 



CHRISTMAS FANCIES 



5« 



That continent Elysiin 
Long vanished from our vision, 
Youth's lovely lost Atlantis, so mourned for and so dear. 
Uprising from the ocean of the present surging near. 

When gloomy, gray Decembers ire roused to Christmas 

mirth. 
The dullest life remembers there once was joy on earth, 
And draws from youth's recesses 
Some memory it possesses. 
And, gazing through the lens of time, exaggerates its 

worth. 
When gloomy, gray December is roused to Christmas 
mirth. 

When hanging up the holly or mistletoe, I wis 

Each heart recalls some folly that lit the world with bliss. 

Not all the seers and sages 

With wisdom of the ages 
Can give the mind such pleasure a memories of that 

kiss 
When hanging up the holly or mistletoe, I wis. 

For life was made for loving, and love tlonc repays, 

As passing years are proving, for all of Time's sad ways. 
There lies a sting in ple.isure. 
And fame gives shallow measure, 

And wealth is but a phantom that moclcs the restless 
days, 

For life was made for loving, and only loving pays. 



iMi 



J« 



THE RIVER 



When Christm» belli are pelting the lir with lilver 

chimei, 
And silences ire melting to soft, melodious rhymes, 
Let Love, the world's beginning, 
End fear . ^d hate and sinning ; 
Let Lore, the God Eternal, be worshipped in all climes 
When Oirisinias bells are pelting the air with silver 
chimes. 



THE RIVER 

I AM a river flowing from God's sea 
Through devious ways. He mapped my course 
for me ; 
I cannot change it ; mine alone the toil 
To keep the waters free from grime and soil. 
The winding river ends where it began ; 
And when my life has compassed its brief span 
I must return to that mysterious source. 
So let me gather diily on my course 
The perfume from the blossoms as I pass. 
Balm from the pines, and healing from the grass. 
And carry down my current as I go 
Not common stones but precious gems to show ; 
And tears (the holy water from sad eyes) 
Back to God's sea, from which all rivers rise, 
Let me convey, not blood from wounded hearts. 
Nor poison which the upas tree imparts. 



SORRY 5j 

When ttver flowery v»lei I leap with joy, 

Let me not devaitate them, nor destroy. 

But rather leave them fairer to the light ; 

Mine be t^- lot to comfurt and delight. 

And if down awful chatmi I necdi must leap, 

Let me not murmur at my lot, but sweep 

On bravely to the end without one I'cjr, 

Knowing that He who planned my ways stands near. 

Love lent me forth, to Love I go again. 

For Love ii all, and over all. Amen. 



SORRY 



THERE is much that 
down life'i way. 



makei me sorry ai I journey 



And I leem to see more pathoi in poor human livei 
Mch day. 

I'm torry for the itrong, brave men who shield tiSe 
weak from harm, 

But who, in their own troubled hours, find no pro- 
tecting arm. 

I'm Surry for the victors who have reached luccess, to 

stand 
As targets for the arrows shot by enviou, failure's hand. 
I'm sorry for the generous hearts who freely shared 

their wine, 
But drink alone the gall of tears in fortune's drear 

decline. 



jx SORRY 

I'm >orrj' for the souls who build their own fime'= 

funeral pyre, 
Derided by the scornful throng like ice deriding fire. 
I'm sorry for the conquering ones who know not sin's 

defeat, 
But daily tread down fierce desire 'neath scorched and 

bleeding feet. 

I'm sorry for the anguished hearts that break with 

passion's strain. 
But I'm sorrier for the poor surved souls that never 

knew love's pain. 
Who hunger on through barren years not tasting joys 

they crave, 
For sadder far is such a lot than weeping o'er a grave, 

I'm sorry for the souls that come unwelcomcd into birth, 
I'm sorr)' for the unloved old who cumber up the earth, 
I'm sorry for the suffering poor in life's great maelstrom 

hurled — 
In truth, I'm sorry for them all who make this aching 

world. 

But underneath v. hate'erseems sad and is not undcrstwij, 
I know there lies hid from our sight a mighty germ cf 

good. 
And this belief stands firm by me, my sermon, motto, 

text — 
The sorriest things in this life will seem grandest in the 

next. 



AMBITION'S TRAIL 

AMBITION'S TRAIL 

IF all the end of chis contir.uous striving 
Were simply to altaiti, 
How poor would seem the planning and contriving, 
The endless urging and the hurried driving, 

Of body, heart, and brain ! 
But ever in the wake of true achieving 

There shines this glowing trail — 
Some other soul will be spurred on, conceiving 
New strength and hope, in its own povvtr believing, 

Because l/><iu didst not fail. 
Not thine al^ne the glory, nor the sorrow. 

If thou dost miss the goal; 
Undreamed of lives in many a far to-morrow 
From thee their weakness or their force shall borrow- 
On, on, imbitieus soul. 



55 






il ,; 



UNCONTROLLED 

THE mighty forces of mysterious spate 
Are one by one subdued by lordly man. 
The awful lightning that for eons ran 
Their devastating and untrammelled race, 
Now bear his messages from place to place 
Like carrier doves. The winds lead on his van j 
The lawless dementi no longer can 
Reiist hit strength, but yield with sullen grace. 



: 



111 



5(5 



WILL 



His bold feet scaling height, before untroa, 
Light, darkness, air and water, heat and cold, 
He bids go forth and bring him power and pelf. 
And yet, though ruler, king, and demi-god, 
He walks with his fierce passions uncontrolled. 
The conqueror of all things— aave himself. ' 



WILL 

VrOU will be what you will to be j 
■1 Let failure find its false content 
In that poor word "environment," 
But spirit scorns it, and is free. 

It masters time, it conquers space, 

It cowes that boastful trickster Chance, 
And bids the tyrant Circumstance 

Uncrown and fill a servant's place. 

The human Will, that force unseen. 
The offspring of a deathless Soul, 
Can hew the way to any goal. 

Though walls of granite intervene. 

Be not impatient in delay. 

But wait as one who understands; 
When spirit rises and commands. 

The gods are ready to obey. 



TO AN ASTROLOGER 

The river leeking for the lea 
Confronts the djm and precipice, 
Yet knows it cannot fail or miss , 

Ton will be what jtu will t> it ! 



TO AN ASTROLOGER 

NAY, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore, 
Nor question that the tenor of my life, 
Past, present, and the future, is revealed 
There in my horoscope. I do believe 
That yon dead moon compels the haughty seas 
To ebb and flow, and that my natal star 
Stands like a stern-browed sentinel in space 
And challenges events; nor lets one grief. 
Or joy, or failure, or success, pass on 
To mar or bless my earthly lot, until 
It proves its Karmic right to come to me. 

All this I grant, but more than this I how! 
Before the solar systems were conceived. 
When nothing was but the unnamablc, 
My spirit live 1, an atom of the Cause. 
Through countless ages and in many forms 
It has existed, ere it entered in 
This human frame to serve In little day 
Upon the earth. The deathless IVIe of me, 



'!>'■: iit 



57 



S8 TO AN ASTROLOCJKR 

The spark from that great all-creative fire, 
Is part of that eternal source called God, 
And mightier than the universe. 

Why, he 
Who knows, and knowing, never once forgets 
The pedigree divine of his own soul. 
Can conquer, shape, and govern destiny. 
And use vast space as 'twere a board fur chess 
With stars for pawns j can change his horoRopo 
Tt suit his will ; turn failure to success, 
And from preordained sorrows, harvest ji;-. 
There is no puny planet, sun, or moon. 
Or zodiacal sign which can control 
The God in us I If we bring iht to bear 
Upon event;, we mould them to our wish ; 
'Tiswhen the infinite 'neath the finite gropes 
That men are governed by their horoscopes. 



THE TENDRIL'S FATE 

UNDER the snow, in the dark and the coM, 
A pale little sprout -.vat humming ; 
Sweetly it sang, 'neath the frozen mould, 
Of the beautiful days that were coming. 

" How foolish your songs I" said a lump of clay ; 

" What is there, I asit, to prove them i 
Just look St the walls between you and the day. 

Now, have you the strength to move them .*" 



THE TENDRIL'S FATE 



59 



But under the ice and under the snow 
The pale little sprout kept singing, 

" I cannot tell how, but I Itnow, I linow, 
I know what the days are bringing. 

" Birds, and blossoms, and buzzing bees, 

Blue, blue skies above me. 
Bloom on the meadows and buds on the trees 

And the great glad sun to love mc." 

A pebble spoke next : " You are quite absurd," 
It said, " with your song's insistence ; 

For / never saw a tree or a bird, 

So of course there are none in existence." 

" But I know, I know," the tendril cried. 

In beautiful sweet unreason ; 
Till lo 1 from its prison, glorified. 

It burst in the glad spring season. 



THE TIMES 

THE times are not degenerate. Man's faith 
Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling 
creed 
Can take from the immortal soul the need 

Of that supreme Creator, God. The wraith 
Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth 
Fades but to let us welcome new-born Truth 



M 



■■■■■r^^' 



6o 



THE QUESTION 



Man may not worihip at the ancient ehrine 
Prone on his face, in self-accuiing scorn. 
That night ii past. He hails a fairer morn, 

And knows himself a something all divine j 
Not humble worm whose heritage it sin, 
But born of God, he feels the Christ within. 

Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time. 
But deep his reverence for that mighty force, 
That occult working of the great All-Source, 

Which makes the present era so sublime. 
Religion now means something high and broad. 
And man stood never half so near to God. 



THE QUESTION 

BESIDE us in our seeking after pleasures. 
Through all our restless striving after fame, 
Through all our search for worldly gains and trc.isures, 

Ther . walketh one whom no man likes to name. 
Silent he follows, veiled of form and fealurc. 

Indifferent if we sorrow or rejoice, 
Vet that day comes when every living creature 
Must look upon his face and hear his voice. 

When that day comes to you, and Death, unmasking. 
Shall bar your path, and say, " Behold the end," 

What are the questions that he will be asking 
About your past ? Havir you considered, friend ? 



SORROWS USES 

I think he will not chide you for your .inning, 
Nor for your creeds or dogmas will he care s 

He will but ask, " Frm pur lift', first hg,n„mg 
Hta mtny burJtnt havi }ou helptd ic ieir f 



<i 



T 



SORROW'S USES 

■HE uses of sorrow I comprehend 
Better and better at iach year's end. 



Deeper and deeper I seem to see 
Why and wherefore it has to be. 

Only after the dark, wet days 

Do we fully rejoice in the sun's bright raya. 

Sweeter the crust tastes after the fait 
Than the sated gourmand's finest repast. 

The faintest cheer sounds never amiss 
To the actor who once has heard a hiss. 

To one who the sadness of freedom knows, 
Light leem the fetters love may impose. 
And he who has dwelt with his heart alone, 
Hears all the music in friendship's tone. 

So better and better I comprehend 
How sorrow ever would be our friend. 



6i 



IP 



IF 

TWIXT what thou trt, and what thou wouldst be, 
let 
No " If" arise on which to lay the blame. 
Man makes a mountain of that puny word, 
But, like a blade of grass before the scythe, 
It falls and withers when a human w II, 
Stirred by creative force, sweeps toward its aim. 

Thou wilt be what thou couldst be. Circumstance 
Is but the toy of genius. When a soul 
Burns with a gid-like purpose to achieve. 
All obstacles between it and its goal 
Must vanish as the dew before the un. 

"If" is the motto of the dilettante 

And idle dreamer ; 'tis the poor excuse 

Of mediocrity. The truly great 

Know not the word, or know it but to scorn. 

Else had Joan of Arc a peasant died, 

Uncrowned by glory and by men un5ung. 



WHICH ARE YOU ? 

THERE are two kinds of people on ea'*S to-Jay j 
Just two kinds of people, no more, I 

Xut the sinner and saint, for it's well underitood 
The good are half bad, and the bad are half good. 



WHICH ARE YOUf 



«3 



Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man'i wealth 
Vou must first know the state of hi> conscience and 
health. 

Not the humble and proud, for, in life's little span, 
Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man. 

Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years 
Brings each man his laughter, and each man his tears. 

No ; the two kinds of people on earth I mean, 
Are the people who lift and the people who lean. 

Wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses 
Are always divided in just these two classes. 

And, oddly enough, you will find too, I ween. 
There's only one lifter to twenty who lean. 

In which class are you f Are you easing the load 
Of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the roaJ ? 

Or are you a leaner, who lets others share 
Your portion of labour and worry and care .' 



THE CREED TO BE 

OUR thoughts are moulding unmade spheres, 
And, like a blessing or a curse, 
They thunder down the formless years. 
And ring throughout the universe. 



♦ THE CREED TO BK 

We build our futures by the shape 
Of our desires, ind not b/ «cts. 

There is no pathway of escape ; 

No priest-mide creeds can alter facts. 

Salvation is not begged or bought, 
Too long this selfish hope sufficed j 

Too long man recked with lawless thought. 
And leaned upon a tortured Christ. 

Like shrivelled leaves, these worn-out creeds 
Are dropping from Religion's tree j 

The world begini to know its needs, 
And louls are crying to be free. 

Free from the load of fear and grief, 
Man fashioned in an ignorant .ige ; 

Free from the ache of unbelief 
He fled to in rebellious rage. 

No church can bind him to the things 
That fed the first crude souls, evolved ; 

For, mounting up on daring wings. 
He questions myiterics all unsolved. 

Above the chant of priests, above 
The blatant voice of braying doubt. 

He hears the still, small voice of Love, 
Which sends its simple message out. 



INSPIRATION 

And clearer, tweeter, day by day 

la mandate echoes from the ikiei, 
"Go roll the none of 5clf away. 

And let the Christ within thee rise." 



65 



INSPIRATION 

NOT liite a daring, bold, agijressive boy, 
h iiiipiratiun, eager to pursue. 
But raihcr lilic a maiden, fond, yet coy, 

Who gives herself to him who best doth woo. 

Once she may imile, or thrice, thy soul to fire. 
In passing by, but when she turns her face. 

Thou mutt persist and sceL her with desire. 
If thou wouldst win the favour of her grace. 

And if, like some winged bird, she cleaves the air. 
And leave* thee spent and stricken on the earth, 

Still mutt thou strive to follow even there, 
That the may kn.w thy valour and thy worth. 

T'l n shall she come unveiling all her charms. 
Giving thee joy fur pain, and smiles for tears ; 

Then ihalt thou clasp her with possessing arms. 
The while she murmurs music in thine ears. 

Bu: ere her kiss has faded from thy check, 
She shall flee from thee over hill and gl ' 'c. 

So must thou seek and ever seek and seek 

For each new conquest of this phantom maid. 



66 



THREE FRIENDS 



THE WISH 

SHOULD lome greit ingel ay to me to-norrow, 
" Thou must retread thy piihway Irom the start, 
But God will grant, in pitr, for th;r lorrow, 
Some one dear with, the nearest to ihy heart." 

Thi« were my wish ! — from my life's dim beginning 
Ltt It tvhiil bai been I wiidom planned the whole ; 

My want, my woe, my erron, and my linninf;. 
All, all were needed letioni "or my soul. 



THREE FRIENDS 

OF all the blessings which itty life has known, 
I value most, and most praise God for three : 
Want, Loneliness, and Pain, those comrades true. 
Who masqueraded in the garb of foes 
For many a year, and filled my heart with dread. 
Yet fickle joys, like false, pretintious friends. 
Have proved less worthy than this trio. First, 
Want taught me labour, led me up the steep 
And toilsome paths to hills of pure delight, 
Trod only by the feet that know fatigue, 
And yet press on until the heights appear. 
Then loneliness and hunger of the heart 
Srnt me upreaching to the realms of space. 
Till all the silences grew eloquent. 
And all their loving forces hailed me friend. 



YOU NEVER CAN TELL 67 

Ltd, p»in taught prayer! [•UceH v- my hand ih* ttill 

Ot'cloie communion with the u.'s io\i\, 

That I might lean upon it to the end, 

And find myielf made «trong for any »trire. 

And then these thret nai) had purr.ied try jtepj 

Like «tern, relentlesi toci, year after year, 

Unmaslicd, and 'iirne' ihelr fares full on nic. 

And lo ! they were divincl) beautiful, 

Fur through them shoiie ilo lutr .j> rrs ul Ljie. 



YOU Ni?:vi.R C'\'; tell 

YOU never can uU when ynvi si..'. J a word, 
Lilie an arrow shot from a h )W 
By an archer blind, be it iruel or inl. 

Just where it may chanc • to g>. 
It may pierce the breast of your di:..re;t ti:uii.l, 

Tipped with its poison or balm; 
To a stranger's heart in life's great mart, 

It may carry its pain or ita :.ilm. 
You never can tell when you 1 j an act 

Just what the result will be ; 
But with every deed you are sowing a seed. 

Though the harvest you may not see, 
Eich kindly act is an acorn dropped 

In God's productive soil. 
You may not know, but the tree shall grow. 

With shelter for those who toil. 



68 HERE AND NOW 

Vou never can tell what your thoughts will do, 

In bringing you hate or luve; 
For tlioughts are things, and their airy wings 

Are swifter than carrier doves. 
They foIleAv the law of the universe^ 

Each thing must create its kind; 
And ilicy speed o'er the track to bring you back 

Wkatevtr Kiiit cut frum your mini. 



HERE AND NOW 

HERE, in the heart of the world, 
Here, in the noise and the din, 
Here, where 'I'lr spirits were hurled 

To battle . h sorrow and sin. 
This is the place and the spot 

For knowl'-dgc of infinite things; 
This is the kingdom where Thought 
Can conijuer the prowess ol kings. 

Wail for no heavenly life. 

Seek for no temple alone ; 
Here, in the midst of the strife. 

Know what the sages have known. 
See what the Perfect On;s saw - 

God in the depth of each soul, 
God as the light and the law, 

God as beginning and goal. 



HERE AND NOW 

Earth is on« chamber of Heaven, 

Death is no grander than birth. 
Joy in the lite that was given, 

Strive for perfection on earth ; 
Here, in the turmoil and roar, 

Show what it is to be calm ; 
Show how the spirit can soar 

And bring back its healing and balm. 

Stand not aloof nor apart, 

Plunge in the thick of the fight; 
There, in the street and the mart. 

That is the place to do right. 
Not in some cloister or cave. 

Not in some kingdom above, 
Here, on this side of the grave. 

Here, should we labour and love. 



UNCONQUERED 

HOWEVER skilled and strong art thou, my foe, 
However fierce is thy relentless hate, 
Though firm thy hand, and strong thy aim, and 
straight 
Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bended bow. 
To pierce the target of my heart, ah ! know 
1 am the master yet of my own fate. 
Thou canst not rob me of my best estate, 
Though fortune, fame, and friends, yea, love shall go. 

6 



7« 



ALL THAT LOVE ASKS 



Not to the du<t ihill my true lelf be hurled, 

Nor shall I meet thy worst assaults dismayed ; 

When all things in the balance are well weighed. 
There is but one great danger in the world — 

Thcu emit ntt ftrtt my stul tt whh thii ill. 

That is the only evil that can kill. 



ALL THAT LOVE ASKS 

" A LL that I ask," says Love, " is just to stand 
£\. And gaze, unchided, deep m thy dear eyes; 
For in their depths lies largeac Paradise. 
Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand 
Be granted me, then joy I though complete 
Were still more sweet. 

•■ All that I ask," says Love, " all th« 1 ask. 

Is just thy hand-ciasp. Could ( brj-ih thy cheek 
As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, word* are weak 

To tell the bliss in which my soul would oask. 
Ther; is no language but would dcMcuite 
A joy so great. 

"All that I ask, is just one tender touch 

Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing paltr ia mine. 
Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine, 

And those curled iips that tempt tne ov;i."n'.;ch 
Turned where I may not seize tiw supreme bliss 
Of one mad VvA. 



"DOES IT PAY!" 7' 

" AH thtt I ask," eays Love, " of life, of death, 
Or of high heaven itself, i» ju«t to stand. 
Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand, 

The while I drink the nectar of thy breath 
In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store, 
I ask no more." 

"All that I ask " — nay, self-deceiving Love, 
Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall. 
In place of "all I ask," say, "I ask all," 

All that pertains to earth or soars above, 
All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul. 
Love asks the whole. 



"DOES IT PAY }" 

IF one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road, 
Who meets us by the wty. 
Goes on less conscious of his galling load, 
Then life, indeed, does pay. 

If we can show one troubled heart the gsin 

That lies alway in loss. 
Why, then, we too are paid for all the pain 

Of bearing life's hard cross. 

Jf some dUspoiident soul to hope is stirred, 

ScHBe sad lif nsade to smile, 
By an) act of ours, or any word. 

Then, life n» been worth while. 



7» 



SESTINA 



SESTINA 

I WANDERED o'er the vast green plains of youth, 
And searched tor Pleasure. On a distant height 
1- ime's silhouette stood sharp against the skies. 
Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad hi^luviy 
I caught the glimmer of a golden goal, 
While from a blooming bower smiled siren I,ovc. 

Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at 1,0. e 
With all the haughty insolence of youtl-, 
As past her bower I strode to seek my goal. 
" Now will I climb to glor>*s dizzy height,*' 
1 said, " for there above the common way 
Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skic^.'* 

But when I reached that summit near the skies. 
So far from man I seemed, so far from Love — 
" Not here," I cried, "doth Pleasure find her wai, " 
Seen from the distant borderland of youth, 
Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height, 
But frowns in shadows when wc reach the g')al. 

Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal. 
Dear to at' sense — sunk souls beneath the skies. 
Gold t'mpti the artist from the lofty height. 
Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love, 
Gold buys the frcsh, ingenuous heart of )outh, 
" And gold," I said, " will show me Pleasure's v .v:." 



SESTINA 73 

But ah ! llic !"il and discord of that way, 
Where uvage hordes rushed headlong to tlie %tu\, 
Dea'1 to the best impulses of their youtl:, 
Blind to the a/.ure beauty of the sliics ; 
Dulled to the voice uf conscience and of love, 
They wandered far from Truth's eternal height. 

Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height, 
Saying, " Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way, 
She with the yearning eyes so full of Love, 
Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal. 
Two blending patht beneath God's arching skies 
Lead straight 'o Pleasure. Ah ! blind heart of ycmth, 
Not u^ fame's height, not toward the base god'- g jal, 
Dwb Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies 
Where Duty walks with Love in endiess youth." 



THE OPTIMJST 

THE fields were bleak and tudden. 
Not a wing 
Or note enlivened the depressing wood ; 
A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood 
Beside the roadway. Winds came metering 
Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting 

Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed 
Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food. 
Nil gleam, no hint ut hope in anything. 



tl^ 



"■VtiVi'i'.it.ikitiSj'j 



^M^Wi 



'♦ AN INSPIRATION 

The «ky was blank and ashen, like the face 

Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast. 
Vet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling 
About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace, 

Smiling with promise in the wintry blast. 
The optimistic Willow spoke of spring. 



T 



THE PESSIMIST 

HE pessimistic locust, last to leaf. 

Though all the world is glad, still talks of grief 



AN INSPIRATION 

TJOWEVER the battle is ended, 

■I 1 Though proudly the victor comes 

With fluttering flags and prancing nags 

And echoing roll of drums, 
Siill truth proclaims this motto 

In letters of living light, — 
No question is ever settled 

Until it is settled right. 

Though the heel of the strong oppressor 
May grind the weak in the dust. 

And the voices of fame with one jcchiin 
May call him great and just. 



AN INSPIRATION 75 

Let thow who applaud take warning, 

And keep thii motto in tight,— 
No queition ii ever lettled 

Until it ii settled right. 

Let thoie who have failed take courage ; 

Though the enemy seemi to have won, 
Though his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong 

The battle is not yet done ; 
For, sure at the morning follows 

The darkest hour of the night. 
No question is ever settled 

Until it is settled right. 

Old man bowid down with labour ! 

Old woman young, yet old ! 
O heart oppressed in the toiler's brsast 

And crushed by the power of gold I 
Keep on with your weary battle 

Against triumphant might ; 
No question is ever settled 

Until it is settled right. 



LIFE'S HARMONIES 

LET no man pray that he know not sorrow, 
Let no soul ask to be free from pain, 
For the gall rf to-day is the sweet of to-morrow. 
And the moment's loss is the lifetime's gain. 



'i 
i,.^ 



76 



PREPARATION 



Through want of a thing does its worth redouble, 

Through hunger's pangs does the least content, 
And only the heart that has harboured trouble 

Can fully rejoice (vhen joy is sent. 
Let no man shrink fram the bitter tonics 

Of grief, and ypariiing, and need, and strife. 
For the rarest chords in the soul's harmonics 

Are found in the minor strains of life. 



PREPARATION 

WE must not force events, but rather make 
The heart soil ready for their coming, as 
The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring, 
Or, with tiie strengthening tonic of the frost. 
Prepares for winter. Should a July noon 
Burst suddenly upon a frozen world 
Small joy would follow, even though that world 
Were longing for the Summer. Should ihe sting 
Of sharp December pierce the heart of June, 
What death and devastation would ensue ! 
All things are planned. The most majestic sphere 
That whirls through space is governed and controlled 
By supreme law, as is the blade of grass 
Which through the bursting bosom of the earth 
Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor, puny man 
Alone doth strive and battle with the Force 
Which rules all lives and worlda, and he alone 
Demands effect before producing cause. 



PREPARATION 



77 



How vain the hope I We cannot harvett joy 

Until we sow the seed, and God alone 

Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand 

And watch the ground with anxious, brooding e/es, 

Complaining of the slow, unfruitful yield. 

Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves 

Keeps off the sunlight and delays result. 

Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire 

Doth like a .ultry May force tender shouts 

Ot half-formed pleasures and unshaped events 

To ripen prematurely, and we reap 

But disappointment ; or we rot the germs 

With briny tears ere they have time to grow. 

While stars are born and mighty planets die 

And hissing comets scorch the brow of spaic, 

The Universe keeps its eternal calm. 

Through patient preparation, year on year. 

The earth endures the travail ^^i' the Spring 

And Winter's desolation. So our souls 

In grand submission to a higher law 

Should move serene through all the ills of life. 

Believing them masked joys. 



GETHSEMANE 

IN golden youth when seems the earth 
A Summer-land of singing mirth. 
When souls are glad and hearts are light. 
And not a shadow lurks in sight. 



78 



GETHSEMANE 



We do not know it, but there lie* 

Somewhere veiled under evening ikiei 

A girden which we ill inuit lee — 

The girden of Gethiemane. 

With jojroui itept we go our wiyi, 

Love lendt a halo to our dayi ; 

Light lorrowi tail like clouds afar, 

We laugh, and lay how strong we are. 

We hurry on ; and hurrying, go 

Close to the borderland of woe 

That waits for you, and waits for me — 

Forever waits Gcchsenune. 

Down shadowy lanci, across strange streams. 

Bridged over by our broken dreams ; 

Behind the misty caps of years, 

Beyond the great salt fount of tears, 

I'hc garden lies. Strive as you may, 

You cannot miw it in your way ; 

All paths that have been, or shall be, 

Pass somewhere through Gethsemane. 

All those who journey, soon or late, 

Must pau within the garden's gate ; 

Must kneel alone in darkness there, 

And battle with some fierce despair; 

God pity those who cannot say, 

" Not mine but Thine " j who only pray, 

" Let this cup pass," and cannot see 

The furpoit in Gethsemane. 



GOD'S MEASURE 



79 



GOD'S MEASURE 

GOD mravurn touli by their capicity 
For entertiining hii belt Angel, Love. 
Who loveth moit it neiresi kin to GoJ, 
Who ii all Love, or Nothing. 

He who liti 
And looki out on the palpitating world. 
And fceli hii heart (well in him large enough 
To hold all men within it, he ii near 
Hii great Creator'i iiandard, though he dwelli 
Outiide the pale ol'chnrchei, and knowi not 
A feait-day from a Tait-day, or a line 
Of Scripture even. What God wanti of ui 
Ii that outreaching bigneii that ignorei 
All littleneii of aimi, or lovei, or creedi. 
And clasps all Earth and Heaven in ii» embrace. 



NOBLESSE OBLIGE 

I HOLD it the duty of one who ii gifted 
And ipecially dowered in all men'i light. 
To know no reit till hii life ii lifted 
Fully np to hii great gifti' height. 

He mult mould the man into rare completeneia, 
For gemi are set only in gold refined. 

He must fashion hii thoughts into perfect iweetne&i, 
And cant out folly and pride from hii mind. 



MICROC<»Y HESOIUTION TiST CHART 

(ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 



^ ? If m 



I.I I'^m 




^ y^PPUE O IIVMGE Inc 

a^^ '653 East Main Stieet 

=%= I',°fI'f^!V; ^'"' ~^°'"'' '^eog usa 

r.^^ (716) •ta2 - 0300- Phone 

SS (^''^) 28Q- 5989 -Fax 



8o 



THROUGH TEARS 



For he who drinks from a god's gold fou„,.,„ 

Of art or music or rhythmic song 
Must sift from hi. soul the chaff of malice. 

And weed from hi. heart the roots of wrong. 
Great gift, should be worn, like a crown beftttrng 

And not like gem. in a beggar's h.nds ! 
And the toil must be constant and unremitting 
Which lifts up the king to the crown's demand. 



THROUGH TEARS 

A N artist toiled over his pictures; 
■*»■ He laboured by night and by day. 
He struggled for glory and honour 

But the world, it had nothing to say 
His waUs were ablaze with the splendours 

We see in the beautiful «kies ; 
But the world beheld only the colour. 
That were made out of chemical dyes. 

Time sped. And he lived, loved, and sulTered , 

He passed through the valley of grief. 
Again he toiled over hi. canvas, 

Since in labour alone wa. relief. 
It showed not the splendour of colour. 

Of those of hi. earlier years ; 
But the world J the world bowed down before it 
Because it wa. painted with tears. 



THROUGH TEARS 
A poet was gifted with genius, 

And he sang, and he tang all the days. 
He wrote for the praise of the people, 

But the people accorded no praise 
Oh ! his song, were as blithe as the morning, 

As sweet as the music of birds ; 
But the world had no homage to offer, 

Because they were nothing but words. 

Time sped. And the poet through sorro«r 

Became like his suffering kind. 
Again he toiled over his poems 

To lighten the grief of his mind. 
They were not so flowing and rhythmic 

As those of his earlier years; 
But the world? lo! it offered its homage, 

Because they were written in tears. 

So ever the price must be given 
By those seeking glory in art; 
So ever the world is repaying 

The grief-stricken, suffering heart. 
The happy must ever be humble ; 

Ambition must wait for the years 
Ere hoping to win the approval 

Of a world that look, on through its tears. 



8i 



8a 



WHAT WE NEED 



WHAT WE NEED 



our country need ? No irmies 



WHAT does 
standing 

With sabres gleaming ready for the fight ; 
Not increased navies, skilful and commanding, 

To bound the waters with an iron might ; 
Not haughty men with glutted purses trying 

To purchase souls, and keep the power of place ; 
Not jewelled dolls with one another vying 
For palms of beauty, elegance, and grace. 

L i; we want women, strong of soul, yet lowly. 

With that rare meekness, born of gentleness; 
Women whose lives are pure and clean and holy, 

The women whom all little children bless ; 
Brave, earnest women, helpful to each other, 

With finest scorn for all things low and mean ; 
Women who hold the names of wife and mother 

Far nobler than the title of a queen. 

Oh I these are they who mould the men of story, 

These mothers, ofttimes shorn of grace and youth. 
Who, worn and weary, ask no greater glory 

Than making some young soul the home of truth ; 
Who sow in hearts all fallow for the sowing 

The seeds of virtue and of scorn for sin 
And, patient, watch the beauteous harvest growing 

And weed out tares which crafty hands cast in 5 



PLEA TO SCIENCE 



8$ 



Women who do not hold the gift of beauty 

As some rare treasure to be bought and sold, 
But guard it as a precious aid to duty — 

The outer framing of the inner gold j 
Women who, low above their cradles bending, 

Let tlattsry's voice go by, and give no heed. 
While their pure prayers like incense are ascending; 

Thtsi are our country's pride, our country's need. 



PLEA TO SCIENCE 

O SCIENCE, reaching backward through the 
distance. 
Most earnest child of God, 
Exposing all the secrets of existence. 

With thy divining rod, 
I bid thee speed up to the heights supernal, 

Clear thinker, ne'er sufficed j 
Go seek and bind the laws and truths eter 
But leave me Christ. 

Upon the vanity of pious sages 

Let in the light of day ; 
Break down the superstitions of all ages 

Thrust bigotry away ; 
Stride on, and bid all stubborn foes defiance, 

Let Truth and Reason reign : 
But I beseech thee, O Immortal Science, 

Let Chiist remain. 




84 



PLEA TO SCIENCE 



Wh«t canst thou give to help me bear my crosses, 

In place of Him, my Lord ? 
And what to recompense for all my losses, 

And bring me sweet reward ? 
Thou couldst not with tliy clear, cold eyes of reason. 

Thou couldst not confort me 
Like One who passed through that tear-blottcd season 

In sad Gethsemane I 



Through all the weary, wearing hour of sorrow. 

What word that thou hast said 
Would make me strong to wait fo/ some to-morrow 

When I should find my dead .' 
When I am weak, and desolate, and lonely — 

And prone to follow wrong J 
Not thou, O Science — Christ, my Saviour, only 

Can make me strong. 

Thou art so cold, so lofty, and so distant. 
Though great my need might be. 

No prayer, however constant and persistent, 
Could bring thee down to me. 

Christ stands so near, to help me through each honr, 
To guide me day by day 

O Science, sweeping all before thy power- 
Leave Christ, I pray ! 



RESPITE 



8S 



RESPITE 

'pHE mighty conflict, which wc c»ll existence, 
* Doth wMr upon the body and the .oul, 

Our vital force, wasted in resistance 

So much there is to conquer and control. 

The rock which meet, the b.llows with defiance. 
Undaunted and unshaken day by day 

In spue ofit, unyielding self-reliance, ' 
la by the warfare surely worn away. 

And there are depth, and heights of strong emotion. 
That surge at fmes within the human breast 

More fierce than .11 the tide, of all the ocean. 
Which sweep on ever in divint unrest. 

I .ometimes think the rock worn with adventures. 
And sad with thought, of conflicts yet to be 

Must envy the frail reed which no one censur'es. 
When, overcome, 'tis swallowed by the sea. 

This life i, all resistance and repression. 
Dear God, if in that other world un.een, 

Not rest we find, but new life and progression, 
Grant u. a respite in the grave between. 



!;ii 



' II 



Ml 



•6 



SONG 



SONG 

O PRAISE me not with your lips, dear one 1 
Though your tender words I prize, 
liut dearer by far is the soulful gaze 
Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes, 
Your tender, loving eyes. 

O chide me not with your lips, dear one 1 
Though I cause your bosom sighs. 

You can make repentance deeper far 
By your sad, reproving eyes. 

Your sorrowful, troubled eyes. 

Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds j 

Above, in the beaming skies, 
The constant stars say never a word, 

But only smile with their eves — 

Smile on with their lustrous eyes. 

Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one • 

On the winged wind speech flies. 
But I read the truth of your noble heart 

In your soulful, speaking eyes — 

In your deep and beautiful eyes. 



MY SHIPS 



«7 



MY SHIPS 

TFall the ships I have ac sea 
■i- Should come a-sailin^ home to me, 
Ah. well I the harbour coulJ not h.,M 
So many sails as there would b.- 
If all my ships came in from sea. 
If half my ships came home from sea, 
And brought their precious fre.Vlit lo me 
Ah, well! I»houldhave,,.ahh"a, Kr..at' 
As any king who sits in state- 
So rich the treasures that would Le 
In half my ships now out at sea. 
Ifjust one ship I have at sea 
Should come a-sailing home to me. 
Ah, well ! the s.orm-doujs then might frown; 
For ifth^ others all went down, 
StiM rich and proud and glad I'd be 
It that one ship came back to me. 

If that one ship went down at se.i, 

And all the others came to me. 

Weighed down with gems and wealth untold. 

With glory, honours, riches, gold. 

The poorest soul on earth I'd be 

If that one ship eame not to me. 

C .kies, be calm 1 O winds, blow free- 
Blow all my ships safe home to me ! 




88 HER LOVE 

But if thou sendest some a-wrack, 
To never more come sailing back, 
Send any— all that sitim the sea. 
But bring my love-ship home to me. 



HER LOVE 

■' I ""HE sands upon the ocean side 
A That change about with every tide, 

And never true to one abide, 
A women's love I liken to. 

The summer zephyrs, ligh. and vain. 
That sing ihe same alluring strain 
To every grass blade on the plain— 

A woman's love is nothing more. 
The sunshine of an April day 
That comes to warm you with its ray, 
But while you smile has flown away— 

A woman's love is like to this, 

God made poor woman witl. no heart. 
But gave her skill, and tact, and art, 
And so she lives, and plays her part. 

We must not blame but pity her. 
She leans to man — but just to hear 
The praise he whispers in her ear ; 
Hersilf, not him, she holdeth dear — 

O fool ! to be deceived by her. 



IK 

To sate her sc'fisl. thirst the quafTs 

The love of „r,ng hearts in sneet draught,, 

I hen throws them ligh y hy and laughs, 

Too -.veat to understand their pain. 
A. charigeful as the winds that blow 
From every region to and fro, 
nevoid of heart, she cannot know 
The suffering of a human heart. 



89 



IF 

T~\EAR love, if you and I could sail away, 
^ With rooivy pennons to the winds unfurled 
Across the waters of some unknown bay, 

And fine- some island far from all the 'world j 
If we could dwell there, evermore alone. 
While unrr Jerl years slip by apace, 
K.rgetting an., torgotten and unknown 

By aught save native song-bird of the place; 
If Winter never visi'ed that land 

And Summer', lap spilled o'er with fruits and flowers, 
And tropic trees cast shade on every hand 

And twinid bough, formed sleef^invitin'g bower.; 
If from the fashions of the world set free 

And hid away from all it, jealous strife*, 
I lived alone for you, and vou for me— 
^h ! thei,, dear love, h>..,. sweet wer.; wedded life. 



^f 



90 



I,OVF/S BURIAr, 

But siiKC we divdl here in the crowded way, 
Where hurrying throngi rush by to seek Tor pnld, 

And y.\ i» commonplace -iid work-a-djy 

A« »oon II love's young honeymoon grows mI 1 ; 

Since fashion rules and nature yields to art, 
And life it hurt by dally jir and fret, 

'Tis I'cst to shut such dreams down in the ic.irt 
And go our ways .ilone, love, md forget. 



LOVES BURIAL 

LET us clear a little space. 
And make Love i burial-plicc. 

He is dead, dear, as you see. 
And he wearies you and me. 

C;rowing heavier, day by d.iy, 
Let us bury him, I say. 

Wing! (jf dead white butterflies 
The;.c shall shroud him, as tie lies 

In his casket rich and rare. 
Made of finest maiden-hair. 

With the pollen of the rose 
Let us his white eyelids close. 

Put the ro'e thorn in his hand, 
Shorn of leaves — you understand- 



"LOVE IS ENOUGH" 

I^t wnie holy water ftW 

On hii dead face, tc«r» of gall— . 

As *e kneel to him and lay, 

" Dreams to dreams," and turn .-"ay. 

Those gravcdiggers, Doubt, Distrust, 

They will lower him to the dust. 

Let us part here with a ki — 

You go that way, I go this. 

Since we burici Love T-day 

Wc will walk - separate way. 



9' 



"LOVE IS ENOUGH" 

T OVE is enough. Let us not ask for 'old. 

-L/ Wealth breeds false alms, and pride id selfishness; 

In those serene, Arcadian days of old 

Men gave no thought to princely hemes and drcs. 
The gods who dw:It on fair Olympia's height 
Lived only for dear love and love's delight. 

Love is enough. 
Love is enough. Why should we cjre for fame .' 

Ambition ii a most unpleasant guest : 
It lures us with the glory of a name. 

Far from the happy haunts of peace and rest. 
Let us stay here in this secluded place 
Made beautiful by love's endearing grace I 

Love is enough. 



9» 



"LOVE IS ENOUGH" 



Lore is enough. Why should we strive for poiver .' 
It brings men only envy and distrust. 

The poor world's homage pleases but an hour, 
And earthly honours vanish in the dust. 

The grandest lives are ofttimes desolate; 

Let me be loved, and let who wil! be great. 
Love is enough. 

Love is enough. Why should we ask for more .> 
What greater gift have gods vouchsafed to men.' 

What better boon of all their precious store 

Than our fond hearts ''lat love and love agiin .' 

Old love may die ; new love is just as sweet; 

And life is fair and all the world complete : 
Love is enough I 



LIFE IS A PRIVILEGF 

LIFE is a privilege. Its youthful days 
Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays. 
To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire, 
To feed with dreams the heart's perpetual fire, 
To thrill with virtuous passions, and to glow 
With great ambitions— in one hour to know 
The depths and heights of feeling — God ! in truth. 
How beautiful, how beautiful is youth ! 

Life is a privilege. Like some rare rose 
The mysteries of the hum.in mind unclose. 



LIFE IS A PRIVILEGR 

What mirvelj lie in earth, and air, and sea ! 

What stores of knowledge wait our opening key I 

What sunny roads of happiness lead out 

Beyond the realms of indolence and doubt ! 

And what large pleasures smile upon and bless 

'I"he busy avenues of usefulness ! 

Life is a privilege. Though noontide fades 

And shadows fall along the winding glades. 

Though joy-blooms wither in the autumn air, 

Yet the sweet scent of sympathy is there. 

Pale sorrow leads us closer to our kind. 

And in the serious hours of life we find 

Depths in the souls of men which lend new worth 

And majesty to this brief span of earth. 

Life is a privilege. If some sad fate 

Sends us alone to seek the exit gate, 

If men forsake us and as shadows fall, 

Still does the supreme privilege of all 

Come in that reaching upward of the soul 

To find the welcoming Presence at ihe goal, 

And in the Knowledge that our feet have trod 

Paths that led from, and must wind back, to God. 



93 



INSIGHT 

SIRS, when you pity us, I say 
You waste your pity. Let it stay. 
Well corked and stored upon your shelves 
Until you need it for yourselves. 



9+ 



INSIGHT 

We do appreciate God's thought 
In forming you, before He brought 
Us into life. His art was crude, 
But oh ! so virile in its rude, 



Large, elemental strength ; and then 
He learned His trade in making men, 
Learned how to mix and mould the clay 
And fashion in a finer way. 

How fine that skilful way can be 
You need but lift your eyes to see ; 
And we are glad God placed you there 
To lift your eyes and find us fair. 

Apprentice labour though you were, 
He made you great enough to stir 
The best and deepest depths of us. 
And we are glad He made you thus. 

Aye ! we are glad of many things ; 
God strung our hearts with such fine strings 
The least breath moves them, and we hear 
Music where silence greets your car. 

We suffer so ? But women's souls. 
Like violet-powder dropped on coals, 
Give forth their best in anguish. Oh, 
The subtle secrets that we know 



INSIGHT 

Of jr.y in sorrow, strange delights 
Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights, 
And mysteries of gain in loss 
Known but to Christ upon the cross ! 

Our tears are pitiful to you .' 
Look how the licavcn-reflectiiig dew 
Dissolves its life in tears. The sand 
Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand. 

How could your pity find a place 
For us, the mothers of the race ? 
Men may be fathers unaware, 
So poor the title is you wear. 

But mothers — who that crown adorns 
Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns. 
And she whose feet that pain hath trod 
Hath walked upon the heights with God. 

No, offer us not pity's cup. 
There is no looking down or up 
Be' ween us ; eye looks straight in eye : 
Born equ.-'.ls, so we live and die. 



95 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER 

YOU call mc an angel of love and of light, 
A being of goodness and heavenly fire. 
Sent out from God's kingdom to guide you aright. 
In p;it;hs where your spirit may moir.it and aspire, 




96 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER 



I spMlc unafraid what I know to be true- 

C''/"''"'^''' '"" " "-= ""'ive spirit 
Which make women angels ! I live but in y„u 
We are bound soul to soul by life', holiest law, ■ 
If I am an angel-why, you are the cause. ' 

As my ship skims the .ea. I look up from the deck. 
aL ^ n? " ''■' "''"' ''"'"" L-C-. beautiful f^m 

By the pilot abandoned to darkness and storm i 
My craft ,s no stauncher. she too had been lost 
Had the wheelman deserted, or slept at his post. 

I laid down the wealth of my souI at your feet 

(Some woman does this for some man every day) 
No desperate creature who walks in the street 

Has a wickeder heart than I might have, I say. 
Had you wantonly misused the treasure, you won- 
As so many men with heart-riches have done. 

This fire from God's altar, thi, holy love-flame, 
That burns l.ke sweet incense forever for you. 
M^ht now be a wild conflagration of .hame' 

Had you tortured my heart, or been base or untrue. 
For angel, and devils are cast in one mould, 
Till love gu,des them upward or downward. I hold. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER 



97 



'tdl you the women who make fervent wive, 

Arf theT" ""'r """'""' ^"^ ""' •>«" '"' '•-^ 

To the madnes, that spring, from and end, in despair 
'■Neglected, may level the wall, to the ground. 

Creat good and great evil are born in one breast 

And^the be,t could be worst, a, the worst co^LI be 

You must thank your own worth for what 1 grew to be 
For the demon lurked under the angel in me ' 



THE WORLD'S NEED 
CO many god,, so many creeds 
'-'So many paths that wind and wind 

While ]u,t the art of being kind, 
Is all the sad world needs. 







H j 




f 

i 


i: 

'3 


Si 



THE LAND BETWEEN 

T^ETWEEN the little Here .nd Urjer Yonder. 

Where faithful .pirit. love-ench.i„ed m,y wander, 
Till ,ome remembering ,oul from earth ha. a,d 
Then, reunited, they go forth afar, 
From sphere to .phere, where wondrou. angel, are. 
Not many jpiriti in that realm are waiting; 
Not many pause upon its shores to rest j' 
For only love, intense and unabating. 

Can hold them from the longer, higher quest. 
And atter grief has wept itself to sleep, 
Few hearts on earth their vital memories keep. 
Should I pass on, across the mystic border, 
Let thy love link me to that pallid land'; 
I would not seek the heavens of finer order' 

Until thy barque had left this coarse- strand, 
liow desolate such journeyings would Ic 
Though straight to Him, were they nol Shared by thee. 
Wert thou first called (dear God, how could I bear it ') 

I should enchain thee with my love, 1 know 
Not great enough am I to free thy spirit 
From all these tender ties, and bid thee go. 

101 



1*1 



.4» 

I 



io» LOVE'S MIRAGE 

Nor wouM a loul, unselfiih is thine own, 
Forget 10 soon, and jpeed to heaven alone. 

On earth we find no joy in ways diverging j 
IIow could v/t find if in the worlds unseen ? 

I know old memories from my bosom surging, 
Would Iteep thee waiting in that Land Between, 

Un.;i together, side by side, we trod 

A path of stars, in our greit search for God. 



LOVE'S MIRAGE 

MIDWAY upon the route, he paused athirst ; 
And suddenly across the wastes of heat. 
He saw cool waters gleaming, and a sweet 
Green oasis urjn his vision burst. 
A tender dream, long in his bosom nursed, 
SpreaJ love's illusive verdure for his feet ; 
The barren sands ciunged into golden wheat ; 
The way grew glad that late had seemed accursed. 

She shone, the woman wonder, on his soul j 
The garden spot, for which men toil and wait ; 
The house of rest, that is each heart'* demand i 
But when, at last, he reached the gleaming goal, 
He foun ', oh, cruel irony of fate. 
But f -sert sun upon the desert sand. 



THE NEED OF THE WORLD 



THE NEED OF THE WORLD 

T KNOW the need of the world, 

A ThoiiRh it would not have me know. 

It would I Ic its sorrow deep, 

VVher only God may go. 
Vet its secret it cannot keep j 
It tells it awake, or asleep. 
It tells it to all who will heed, 
And he who runs may ead. 

The need of the world 1 know. 

I know th.: need of the world. 

When it boasts of its wealth the loudest. 
When it flaunts it in all men's eyes. 

When its mien is the gj c.t and proudest. 
Oh I ever it lies— it lies, 
For the sound of its laughter dies 
In a sob and a smothered moan, 
.And it weeps when it sits alone. 

The need of the world I know. 

I know the need of the world. 

When the earth shakes under the tread 
Of men who march to the fight. 

When rivers with blood are red 
And there is no law but might. 
And the wrong way seems the right i 



lOJ 







104 THE NEED OF THE WORLD 

When he who iliughtert the moit 
Ii all men'i pride ind boait, 

The need of the world I know. 
I know the need of the world. 

When it babblet of gold and Tame, 
It ii only to lead ui aitr -y 

From the thing that it dare not name, 
For this ii the tad world'i way. 
Oh ! poor blind world grown grey 
With the need of a thing >o near, 
With the want of a thing lo dear. 

The need of the world I know. 

The need of the world ii love. 

Deep under the pride of power, 
Down under its lust of greed. 

For the joys that last bur an hour. 
There lies forever its need. 
For love is the law and the creed 
And love is the unnamed goal 
Of life, from i lan to the mole. 

Love is the need of the world. 



THE GULF STREAM 

SKILLED mariner, and counted sane and wise, 
That Has a curious thing which chanced to me. 
So good a sailor on so fair a sea. 
With favouring winds and blue unshado\"ed skies. 



REMEMBERED 
1^ by the Aiihful beicon of Love'i tyt; 
Put rtef ind iho.l, my Iife.bo.t bounded free 
And feirlcis of .11 change, that might be 
Under dm wave., where many a .unk rock lie.. 
A golden dawn ; yet suddenly my barque 
Strained at the lail., ,s in . cyclone', blait i 
And battled with an unieen current', force, 
for we had entered when the night wai dark 
That old temFMtuou, Gulf Stream of the Pa.t 
But for love-, eye., 1 had not kept the cour.e 



REMEMBERED 
TJIS an was loving j Ere. get hi. sign 
i X Upon that youthful forehead, and he drew 
Ihe heart, of women, a. the sun draw, dew 
Love feed. love', thirst as wi„c feeds love ofwine • 
iSor II there any potion from the vine 

Which make, men drunken like the .ubtle brew 
Of kuses cru.hed by kis.e, ; and he grew 
inebriated with that Jraught divine. 

Vet in hi. sober moments, when the sun 
Of r,iJiant suinm-r paled to lonely f.il 
And passion', sca had grow:. .„ ebbing tide, 

From out the many. Memory .inglcd one 

Fml cup that seemed the .weete.t of them all- 



ie{ 



'it 



h 



1 



dii. 



I 



io6 



HELEN OF TROY 



HELEN OF TROY 

ON THE ISLE OF CRANAB 

THE world an abject vassal to her charms. 
And kings competing for a single smile. 
Yet lore she knew not, till upon this isle 
She gave surrender to abducting arms. 
Not Theseus, who plucked her lips' first kiss. 

Not Menelaus, lawful mate and spouse. 

Such answering passion in her heart could rou=e, 
Or wake such tumult in her soul as this. 
Let come what will, let Greece and Asia meet. 

Let heroes die and kingdoms run with gore ; 

Let devastation spread from shore to shore — 
Resplendent Helen finds her 1 idage sweet. 
Tht whole world fights her ba ies, while she lies 
Sunned in the fervour of young Paris' eyes. 



ON THE ISLE OF RHOUES 

The battles ended, ardent Paris dead, 
Of faithful Menelaus long bereft, 
Time is the only suitor who is left : 

Helen survives, with youth and beauty fled. 

By hate remembered, but by love forgot, 
Dethroned and driven from her high estate. 
Unhappy Helen feels the lash of Fate 

And knows at last an unloved woman's lot. 



LAIS WHEN YOUNG 

The Grecian marvel, and the Trojan joy, 

The world's fair wonder, from h»r palace fliei 
The furies follow, and great Helen dies, 

A death of horror, for the pride of Troy. 

* » ♦ ♦ • 

Yet Time, lite Menelaus, all forgiven 
Helen, immortal in her beauty, livet. 



IC7 



LAIS WHEN YOUNG 

LAIS when young, and all her charms in flower, 
Laia, whose beauty was the fateful light 
That led great ships to anchor in the night 
And bring their priceless cargoes to her bower, 
Lais yet found her cup of sweet turned sour. 
Great Plato's pupil, from his lofty height, 
Zenocrates, unmoved, had seen the white 
Sweet wonder of her, and defied her power. 

She snared the world in nets of subtle wiles: 

The proud, the famed, all clamoured at her gate ; 
Dictaton plead, inside her portico ; 
Wisdom sought madness, in her favouring smiles ; 
Now was she made the laughing-stock of fate : 
One loosed her clinging arms, and bade her go. 



m 



loS 



LAIS WHEN OLD 



LAIS WHEN OLD 

LAIS, when old and all her beauty gone, 
Lait, the erstwhile courted pleasure queen, 
Wallied homeless through Corinth. 

One mocked her mien — 
One tosEed her coins ; she took them and passed on. 
Down by the harbour sloped a terraced lawn, 

Where fountains played ; she paused to view the 

scene, 
A marble palace stood in bowers of green. 
'Twas here of old she revelled till the dawn. 

Through yonder portico her lovers came — 
Hero and statesman, athlete, merchant, sage } 
They flung the whole world's treasures at her feet 
To buy her favour and exalt her shame 

* ♦ * ♦ * 

She spat upon her dole of coins in rage 
And faded like a phantom down the street. 



EXISTENCE 

YOU are here, and you are wanted, 
Though a waif upon life's stair j 
Though the sunlit hours are haunted 
With the shadowy shapes of care. 
Still the Great One, the All-Seeing 
Called your spirit into being — 



EXISTENCE 

G«ve you (trength for any fate. 
Since your life by Him was needed. 
All your way« by Him are heeded — 

You can trust and you can wait. 
You can wait to know the meaning 

Of the troubles sent your soul ; 
Of the chasms intervening 

'Twiit your purpose and your goal j 

f the sorrows and the trials, 
Of the silence and denials, 

Ofttimes answering to your pleas ; 
Of the stinted sweets of pleasure, 
And of pain's too generous measure 

You can wait the tiihy of these. 
Forth from planet unto planet, 

You have gone, and you will go. 
Space is vast, but we must span it ; 

For life's purpose is It kma. 
Earth retains you but a minute. 
Make the best of what lies in it ; 

Light the pathway where you are. 
There is nothing worth i doiug 
That will leave regret or rueing, 

As you speed from star to star. 
You are part of the Beginning, 

You are parcel of To-day. 
When He set Hi» world to spinning 

You were flung upon your way. 



109 



"0 HOLIDAY SONGS 

When the lystem falls to piecei, 
When this pulsing epoch ceases, 

When the // becomes the was. 
Von will live, for you will enter 
In the great Creative Centre, 

In the All-Enduring Cause, 



HOLIDAY SONGS 



SAILING away on a summer sea. 
Out of the bleak March weather ; 
Drifting away for a loaf and play. 

Just you and I together ; 
And it's good-bye worry and good-bye hurry 
And never a care have we ; 
With the sea below and the sun above 
And noth^ig to do but dream and love. 
Sailing away together. 

Sailing away from the grim old town 

And tasks the town calls duty; 
Sailing away from walls of grey 

To a land of bloom and beauty. 
And it's good-bye to letters from our lei-crs and 

our betters, 
To the cold world's smile or its frown. 
We sail away on a sunny track 
To find the summer and bring it back 

Ai.l love is our only duty. 



HOLIDAY SONGS 



Afloat on a sea of patsion 

Without a coiiipass or chart, 
But the glow of your eye shows the lun it high, 

By the sextant of my heart. 
I know wt are Hearing the tropics 

By the languor that round us lies, 
And the smile on your mouih says the course is 
south 

And the port is Paradise. 

We have left grey skies behind u.. 

We sail under skies of blue ; 
Vou are off with me on lovers' sea. 

And I am away with you. 
We have not a single sorrow. 

And I have but one fear- 
That my lips may miss one offered kiss 

From the mouth that is smiling near. 

There is no land of winter ; 

There is no world of care • 
There is bloom and mirth all over the earth, 

And love, love everywhere. 
Our boat is the barque of Pleasure. 

And whatever port we sight 
The touch of your hand will male the lanj 

The Harbour of Pure Delight. 



1' 



"» ASTROLABIUS 

ASTROJ,ABIUS 

(iHE CHILD OF /BELAUD AND HILOISl) 
I 

'IIT'RENCHEI. from a passing comet in its fliglit, 
» V By that great force of two mad liearts aflame, 
A soul incarnate, back to earth you came, 
To glow like star-dust for a little night. 
Deep shadows hide you wholly from our sight ; 
The centuries leave nothing but your name. 
Tinged with the lustre of a splendid shame,' 
That blazed oblivion with rebellious light. 
The mighty passion that became your cause. 
Still bur a its lengthening path across the years j 
We feel its raptures, and we see its tears 
And ponder on its retributive laws. 

Time keeps that deathless story ever new ; 
Yet finds no answer, when we ask of you. 



At Argenteuil, I saw the lonely cell 

Where Hi]oM dreamed through her broken rest, 
That baby lips pulled at her undried breast. 

It needed but my woman's heart to tell 

Of those long vigils and the tears that fell 
When aching arms reached out in fruitless quest, 
As after flight, wings brood an empty nest. 

So well I know that sorrow, ah so well ) 



ASTROLABIUS 



AcroM the centuries there comes no sound 
Of that vast anguish j not one sigh or word 
Ur echo of the mother loss has stirred. 

The sea of silence, lasting and profound' 

Yet to each heart, that once has felt this grief. 
Sad Memory restore. Time', missing leaf. 

Ill 

But what of you ? Who took the mother', place 
When sweet expanding love its object sought? 
Was there a voice to tell her tragic lot. 
And did yon ever look upon her face I 
Was yours a cloistered seeking after grace t 
Or in the flame of adolescent thought 
When Abelard's departed passions caught 
To burn again in you and leave their trace f 
Conceived in nature's bold primordial wiy 
(As in their revolutions, suns create), 
Vou came to earth, a sou] immaculate, 
Baptized in fire, with some great part to play 
What wa, that part, and wherefore hid from us 
Immortal mystery, Astro!abius 1 ' 

COMPLETION 

IITHEN I hall meet God's generous dispen.er, 
T V Of all the nches in the heavenly store, 
Xhose lesser gods, who act as Recompenser. 
For loneliness and low upon this shore. 



"J 



S*' 



«•♦ 



COMPLETION 



I'i 'I' 



i ; 



Methink».bi.hed,»nd somewhat hesitating. 
My Boul it. wish and longing will declare. 
LeH they reply : « Here are no bounties waiting : 
We gave on earth, your portion and your share." 
Then .hall I answer : « Yea, I do remember 

The many blessings to my life allowed ; 
My June was always longer than December. 
My sun was always stronger than my cloud 
My joy was ever deeper than my sorrow. 
My gain was ever greater than my loss, 
My yesterday seemed less than my to-morrow 

1 he crown looked always larger than the cros.. 
"I have known love, in all it, radiant splendour. 

It shone upon my pathway to the end. 
I trod no road that did not bloom with tender 

And fragrant blossoms, planted by some friend. 
And those material things we call successes 

In modest measure, crowned my earthly 'lot. 
Yet was there one sweet happiness that blesses' 

The life of woman, which to me came not. 
" I knew the hope of motherhood ; a season 

I felt a fluttering heart beat 'neath my own • 
A little cry-then silence. For that reason * 

I dare, to you, my only wish make known, 
li.e babe who grew to angelhood in heaven, 
1 never watched unfold from child to man. 
And so I ask, that unto me be given 
That motherhood, which was God's primal plan. 



COMPLETION 



"5 

"All womankind He meant to .h.re hi, glorie. • 

He meant u. all to nur,e our babe, to rest. ' 
To croon them .ong,, to tell ■l,em .leepy „onc,, 

EI,e why the wonder of a woman', bre„t ' 
He mu,t provide for all earth', cheated mother. 

In Hm vast heaven, of shining ,phere on .pherc, 
And with my .on, there mu.t be many others- 

My.p.r.t children who will claim mc here. 

" ^p ' ""'""• '''' "'y loving thought, created- 

Too finely fashioned for a mortal birth- 
Between the border, of two world, they waited 

Until they .,w my .pirit leave the earth 
In God .great nursery they must be waiting 
To welcome me with many an infant wile. 
Now let me go and satisfy this longing 
To mother children for a little while " 



i 



SLEEP'S TREACHERY 



AS the grey tw.bght, tiptoed dow,. the deep 
«, /""^'^"^""^y '«"«y. to the day's dark end 
Shewhoml.houghtmyever.faithfulVriend ' 

m': I "'V^"^ ""* mother-bosomed Sleep 

Met me w.th .mJe.. « Poor longing heart, I keep 
Sweet ,oy for you." ,he murmured' M wil s?„d 
One whom you love, with your own soul to bl nd 
In vi.,on,, a. the night hours onward cr-ep " 



ii6 



ART I^ERSUS CUPID 



I truited her ; ai. '> watched by itarry beima, 
I slumbered loundly, free from all alarma. 
Then not my love, but one long banished came, 
Led by falie Sleep, down lecret itairi of dreamt 
And claiped me, unresiiting in fond armi. 
Oh, treacheroui sleep — to lell me to luch shame ! 



i' St 



ART yEXSUS CLPID 

[J mm in t privttt haute. A maiden titling iefiri tfre 
atJiUling.] 



;' il 



1 1 il 



Now have I fully fixed upon my part. 
Good-bye to dreams ; for me a life of art! 
Beloved art I Oh, realm serene and fair. 
Above the mean and sordid world of care, 
Auove earth's small ambitions and desires ! 
Art! art! the very word my soul inspires! 
From foolish memories it sets me free. 
Not what hat been, but that which is to be 
Absorbs me now. Adieu to vain regret! 
The bow is tensely drawn — the target set. 

[A kiioik at the Jar. 
MAID (asiJe) 
The night is darli and chill ; the hour it late. 

(MauJ) 
Who knocks upon my door 1 



I' I 



"7 



AKT ysgsvs CUPID 

■^ ytiei Outiidi 

'Til r, your fjtel 
Maid 
Thou do,, deceive, not me. bu, thine o^n .elf 
Myf..ca„ot.„,„d„ing.v.g„„telf. 

1 ha. bc4U .lone for glory, Md for.;,. 



{Antthir knxk at Jttr.] 
P»y,letmeinj I am k, faint .nd cold 

MAID {inJignantly) 

Me.hi„k.,hou.r. not fain,, however cold. 
But rather too courageous, and mo.t bold 
Surpr...„glyill.„,,„„„^,,,.„^J°'d. 

Without .n invitation to intrude 
iDto my very preience. 

""""'o (tearming hi, hands) 

r-.-.f . ^"'' y°u see. 

G rhnevermmd a little chap lik,™,.' 

17," .'""'7' '^"^'•ing for me on the ,1, 
And hoping I will call. ^' 




ART VERSUS CUPID 






UAID {/■aulhlily) 

Indeed, not I ! 
My he»rt ha» liiiened to t »weeter voice, 
A clarion c«!l that givet command — not choice 
And I have aniwered to that call, " I come"; 
To other voicei ihall my eari be dumb. 
To art alone I coiuecraie my life — 
Art ii my ipouie, and I hit willing wife 

CVPID {ihuilj, lazing in ih grtte) 

Art ii a ii'lian, and you must divide 
Hii love with many another ill-fed bride. 
Now I know one who wonhipi you alone. 

MAID {imf4ritnl/j) 

I will not liitcn ! for the dice it thrown 

And art hai won me. On my brow tome day 

Shall reit the laurel wreath — 

CUHD {sitting J'tcn mJ Mirg til Maid (rilically) 
Ju<t let me say 
I think iweet orange blossoms under lace 
Are better luited to your type of face. 

MAID (.gmriijg inltrrnptitn) 

\ ftt ihall itand before an audience 

That liiteni a« one mind, absorbed, interne, 



ART f'tKSUs CUPID 

And wieh my geniu. I .h.ll rouw iu chttr. 
St.ll .1 to .ilenc, „f,e„ ;, ,„ ,„„ ^ 

Orw.kei..Uugh,.r. Oh, .he pl'.y, .h. pl„, 
The pUy. ,he ,hi„,! My boy. >i,,/^f, ^ ' 

1 know , splendid rdl. for vou .o ,.k. °''' "''' 

And one .h.t ,lw.y. keep. ,he hou.e .w.ke- 
And call, for prettydre-ing. Oh. ,V, g„„ , 

MAID (exdtiJIj) 
Well. well. wh«i, it, Wherefore m.ke me w,i,? 
CUPID (r.,;,;,/,^ bu irm, ihugtt/u/ly) 

Howi.i,,ho..li,.„,„„_„h.no>vlkno,vi 
You m.k. . ...tely entra„ce-mea«ured-.low- 
lo .tirring mu.ic, then you kneel and ny 
Something about_,o honour and obey- 
For better and for worse-,,11 death do part. 

MAID {angri/y) 
Be .till, you fooli.h boy J that is not an. 

cvno (serieui/y) 
She need, great skill who take, the rfile of wife 
In God , .tupendou, drama human life. 



119 



m 






120 



ART FERSaS CUPID 



UMx (u'dJenly ieceming serious) 

So I once thought 1 Oh, once my very soul 

Was filled and thrilled with dreaming of that r61e. 

Life seemed so wonderful ; it held for me 

No purpose, no ambition, but to be 

Loving and loved. My highest thought of fame 

Was some day bearing my dear lover's iiam^. 

Alone, I ofttimes uttered it aloud, 

Or wrote it down, half timid, and all proud 

To see myself lost utterly in him : 

As some small star might joy in growing dim 

When sinking in the sun ; or as the dew, 

Forgetting the brief little life it knew 

In space, might on the ocean's bosom fall 

And ask for nothing — only to give all. 

CUPID (aside) 

Now, that's the talk — it's music to my ear 
After that stuff on "art " ^ud a "career." 
I hope she'll keep it up. 



MAIDEN (aminuing htr re •rie) 
Again my dream 
Shaped into changing pictures. I would seem 
To see myself in beautiful array 
Move down the aisle upon my wedding day; 



ART ^£ff5. AT CUPID 

And book, and «wing ,cuc.reu .il .bout. 
And just we two «!one. 



Ill 



I'll land her yet ! 



<^vno (in glte aiiJe) 

There'i not x doubt 

MAIDtN 



^. . .„ ^^y '''■e»m kaleidoscope 

Chang,, ,„„i„^ ,„. fr.„,j ,^^^.^ ^^;; 

The tnn.t, of home; and life was good "^ 

And all ,t, deepest meaning understood. 

I saw myself glide peacefully with time' 
Into the quiet middle years, content 

W„h simple joy, the dear home circle lent 
My sons and daughters made my diadem • ' 

I «w my happy youth renewed in them. ' 
rhe pam of growing old lost all its stin? 

^or Love stood ncar-i„ Winter, as in Ving 

'tart:ufdrma,ic,lly^ ^ '^*""" 

Twasbutadrcam! I woke all suddenly. 
The world h,d changed- And now life'mean, to me 



I i 






iffr 



<** ART ySRSVS CUPID 

My trt — the >t»ge — excitement «nd the crowds 
The glare of many foot-light> — and the loud 
Applause of men, as I cry in rage, 
" Give me the dagger !" or creep down the stage 
In that sleep-walking scene. Oh, art like mine 
Will send the chills down every listener's spine I 
And when I choose, salt tears shall freely flow 
Ai in the moonlight I cry, " Romeo ! Romeo ! 
Oh, wherefore art thou, Romeo ?" 

Ay, 'tis done 
My dream of home life. 

CUPID 

It is but begun. 



The heart but once can dream a dream so fair. 
And so henceforth love thoughts I do forswear ; 
Since faith in love has crumbled to the dust, 
In fame alone, I put my hope and trust. 

[Cupid at the dour bechm txcitidlyi 
livir with tutstrtlchiJ armi.] 



Enter 



V i 



Here's one who will explain yourself to you 
And make that old sweet dream of love come true. 
Fix up your foolish quarrel ; time is brief- 
So waste no more of it in doubt or grief. 
[Tie hveri meet md entrace.'] 



THE REVOLT OF VASHTI 

CL'PID (in Jetruay) 
Warm lip to lip. and heart to beating heart, 
The cait i, made-My Lady hai her part. 

CUITAIN 



THE REVOLT OF VASHTI 
(from thi drama or mizpah) 

AHASUERAS 

TS this the way to greet thy loving spouse, 

A But now returned from scenes of blood and strife ' 

I pray thee raise thy veil and let me gaze 

Upon that beauty which hath greater power 

To conquer me than all the arts of war 1 

VASHTI 

My beauty ! Ay, my ie^utyt I do hold. 
In thy regard, no more an honoured place 
Than yonder marble pillar, or the gold 
And jewelled wine-cup which thy lip, caress 
Thou wouldst degrade me in the people's sight I 

AHASUERAI 

Degrade thee, Vashti ? Rather do I seek 
To show my people who are gathered her. 
How, as the consort of so fair a queen, 



11+ 



THE REVOLT OF VASHTI 



I feel more pride than as the mighty Icing : 

For there be many rulers on the earth, 

But only ene such queen. Come, raise thy veil I 



ll 



Ay ! only t«e such queen ! A queen is one 
Who shares her husband's greatness and his throne 
I am no more than yonder dancing girl 
Who struts and smirks before a royal court ! 
But I will loose my veil and loose my tongue I 
Now listen, sire— my master and my l;ing ; 
And let thy princes ancj the court give e.ir I 
'lis time all heard how Vashti feels her shame. 



¥ I 



AHASUEKAS 

Shame is no word to couple with thy name ! 
Shame and a spotless woman may not meet. 
Even in a sentence. Choose another word. 



Ay, if'i'^f, my lord— there is no synonym 
Th.it can give voice to my ignoble state. 
To be a thing for eyes to gaze upon. 
Yet held an outcast from thy heart and mind ; 
To hear my beauty praised but not my worth j 
To come and go at Pleasure's beck and call, 
While barred from Wisdom's conclaves ! Think ye 
iJrnt 



THE REVOLT OF VASHTI 

A noble calling for a noble dame ? 
Why, any concubine amongst thy train 
Could play my royal part as well as I— 
Were she as fair! 



'>5 



VI 



AHA8UERA8 

Queen Vashti, art thou majf 
I would behead another did he dare 
To so besmirch thee with comparison. 



VASHTI {lo the court) 
Ga« now your fill ! Behold Queen Vashti's eves I 
How large they gleam beneath her inch of brow I 
How like a great white star, her splendid face 
Shines through the midnight forest of her hair 
And see the crushed pomegranate of her mnuth ' 
Observe her arms, her throat, her gleaming breasts. 
Whereon the royal jewels rise and fall !_ 
And note the crescent curving of her hips, 
And lovely Hrabs suggested 'neath her r<,bes ' 
Gaze gaze, I say, for these have made her queen ' 
bhe hath no mind, no heart, no dignity, 
Worth royal recognition and regard ; 
But her fair body approbation meets ' 
And whets the sated appetite of kings i 
Now ye have seen what she was bid to show 
The queen hath played her part and begs to «o 



:il 



ia6 



THE REVOLT OF VASHTI 



Aj, Vashti, go and never more return ! 
Not only hast thou wronged thine own true lord, 
And moclted and ihamcd me in the people's eyes, 
But thou hast wronged all princes and all men 
By thy pernicious and rebellious ways. 
Queens act and subjects imitate. So let 
Queen Vashti weigh her conduct and her words, 
Ui be no more called "queen !" 



I was a princess ere I was a queen, 
And worthy of a better fate than this ! 
There lies the crown that made me cjucen in name ! 
Here stands the woman — wife in name alone 1 
Now, no more queen — nor wife — but woman still- 
Ay, and a woman strong enough to be 
Her own avenger. 



T 



THE CHOOolNG OF ESTHER 

(from the drama op hizpah) 

ahasuerai 
ELL me thy name ! 



ESTH8R 

My name, great sire, is Esther. 



THE CHOOSING OF ESTHER 

AHASVeXAS 

So thou irt E.ther ? Esther I 'tis a name 
Breathed into sound as softly ai a sigh. 
A woman's name should melt upon the lips 
Like Love's first lti$.e», and thy countenance 
Is fit companion for so sweet a name I 

ISTHIR 

Thou art most kind. I would my name and face 
Were mine own making and not accident. 
Then I might feel elated at thy praise, 
Where now I feel confusion. 

AHASUERAS 

Tiiou hast wit 
As well as beauty, Esther. Both are gem. 
That do embellish woman in man's sight. 
Yet they are gems of second magnitude ! 
Dost tkou possess the one great perfect gem— 
The matchless jewel of the world called hve I 

ESTHER 

Sire, In the heart of every woman dwells 
That wondrous perfect gem ! 



m 



Then, Esther, upcTU 
And tell me what is /et'ff I fain would know 
Thy definition of that mach-mouthed word, 
B)- woman most cmployed-Ieast understood. 



i 



i»» THE CHOOSING OF ESTHER 



^ i 



IITHER 

Whit can t humble Jewish maiden know 
That would instruct a warrior and a ting? 
I have but dreamed of love ts maidens will 
While thou hast known its fulness. All the world 
Loves Great Ahasueras ! 



V 1 *' 



AHASUERAS 

All the world 
Ffari great Ahasueras ! Kings, my child, 
Are rarely loved as anything but kings. 
Love, as I see it in the court and camp, 
Means seeking royal favour. I would know 
How love is fashioned in a maiden's dreams. 

ESTHER 

Sire, love seeks nothing that kings can bestoiv. 

Love is the king of all kings here below ; 

Love makes the monarch but a bashful boy. 

Love makes the peasant monarch in his joy; 

Love seeks not place, all places are the same. 

When lighted by the radiance of love's flame. 

Who deems proud love could fawn to power and 

splendour 
Hath known not love, but some base-born pretender. 

AHASUEKAS 

If this be love, I would know more of it. 
Speak on, (air Esther I What is love beside f 



1 ^: 



THE CHOOSING OF ESTHER 



129 



nTHER 

Love i, in all things, .11 thingi .re in love. 
Love is the earth, the sm, the skies above j 
Love it the bird, the blossom, and the vvind ; 
Love h.th a million eves, jet love is blind j 
Love is a tempest, t\ ful in its might ; 
Love is the silence of a moon-lit night ; 
Love is the aim of every human soul ; 
And he who hath not loved hath missed life's goal ! 

AHASUERAS 

But tell me of thyseif, of thine own dreams ! 
How Houldst thou love, and how be lov«l again ? 

EjTHtR 

Who most doth love thinlts least of love'* return ; 
She is content to feel the passion burn 
III her own bosom, and its sacred fire 
Consumes each selfish purpose and desire. 
'Tis in the giving, love's best rapture lies. 
Not in the counting of the things it buys. 

AHASUERAS 

Vet, is there not vast anguish and despair 

In love that finds no answering word or smile ? 

ISTHER 

So radiant is love, it lends a glow 

To each d.rk sorrow and to ever^ woe. 




130 



THE CHOOSING OF ESTHER 



To love completely ii to part with pain, 
Nor i> there mortal who can love in vain. 
Love is its own reward, it pays full measure. 
And in love's sharpest grief lies subtlest pleasure. 

AHASUEKAB 

Methinks, a mighty warrior, lord or king 
Must in thy fancy play the lover's part ; 
None else could wake such reverential thought. 

ISTHEK 

When woman loves one born of lowly state. 

Her thought gives crown and sceptre to her mate ; 

Yet be he king, or chief of some great clan, 

She loves him l , as woman loves a man. 

Monarch or pea.j.it, 'tis the ..ame, I wis 

When once the gives him love's surrendering kiss. 



HONEYMOON SCENE 
(from the drama of uizpah) 

ahasueras 

WHAT were thy thoughts, sweet Esther t Some- 
thing passed 
Across thy face, that for a moment veiled 
Thy soul trom mine, and left me desolate. 
Tly thought* were not of me f 



HONEVMOON SCENE 

■ITHCK 

, , J Ay, *// of thee I 

I wondered, if in truth, though wert content 
Vy.th me-thy choice. W» ,|,„e no other one 
Ot all who passed before thee ot thy court 
Whose memory pursues thee with regret? 

AHASUtR.^S 

I do confess I much regret that day 
And wish I could relive it. 



'3« 



Oh ! My lord I 

AHASUtRAS 

Vea! I regret those hours I wasted on 
The poor procession that preceded thee. 
Hadst thou come first, then all the added wealth 
Of one long day of loving thee were mine— 
A boundle I fortune squandered. Though I live 
To three score years and ten, as I do hope. 
In wedded love beside thee, that one day 
Was filched from me and cannot be restored. 

ESTHER 

And then to think how frightened and abashed 
I hung outside thy gates from early morn, 
Not daring to go in and meet thine eyes. 
Till pitying twilight clothed me in her veil. 
And evening walked beside me to thy door." 



4'd 



'3» 



HONEYMOON SCENE 



hi! 



AHAIVItAI 

So it was ihou, fair ihief, who Hole chit ity. 
And made me poorer, by — how many houn f 

IITHIt 

Full eight, I think. They leemeJ a hundred then. 
And now time fiiet i hundred times tuu fast. 

AHAIUtllAi 

Then eight more kiiscs do I claim from thee 

Thii very hour — first tithes of many due. 

I shall exact these payments as I will, 

And if they be not ready on demand, 

I'll lock thee in the prison of my arms, 

Like this — and take them so^and so— <nd lot 

ESTHER 

But kings mutt think of other things than lore 
And live for other aims than happiness. 
1 would not drag thee from thy altitude 
Of mighty ruler and great conqueror 
To chain thee by my side. 



AHASUIKAt 



Such slavery 
Would please me better thin to conquer earth 
Without thee, Esther. I have stood on height! 
And heard the cheers of multitudes below ; 



HONEYMOON SCEN2 ,jj 

Have known the loneliness of being gre.t. 
Now, let me liie and love thee, like a man, 
Forgetting I am king— 
I am content. 

•>Tiii!a 

Content ii not the pathway to great dccdi. 

A» man, I hold thee higher than all kinj;. ; 

Ai king, thou muit itand higher than all men 

In other eyes. Let no one say of me : 
"She spoiled hij greatness by her littleness ; 
She made a languorous lover oi'a king, 
And silenced war-cries on commanding lips— 
Wi,h honeyed kissei j made her woman's arm. 
Preferred to armour, and her touch to tents, 
Until the kingdom, with no guiding hand, ' 
Plunged down to ruin." 



Thou vvouldst have me go- 
So soon ihy heart tiath wcaiitj I 

asTHn 
^'l ' .■! ■: bursting with its love for thee I 
Canst thou not feel its fervour } But great men 
Need wiser guidance than a woman's heart. 
My pride in thee is equal to my love, 
And I would have thee greater than iho-i art- 
Ay, greater than ill other men on earth— 



f I' 

i; 






is '-a ■'' 

k 'f 



Id 



,j^ HONEYMOON SCENE 

Thougli forced long )car3 to feed my hungry heart 
On food of memories and wine of tears, 
Wert thou but winning glory and renown. 

AHASUERAS 

Thou art most noble, Esther ; thou art fit 

To be the consort of a king of king'i. 

But I have chewed upon ambition's husks 

And starved for love through all my manhood's years , 

And now the mighty gods have seen it fit 

To spread love's banquet and to name thee host. 

May I not feast my fill f O Esther, take 

The tempting nectar of those lips away 

And give me wine to rouse the brute in me, 

To make me thirst for blood instead of love 1 

Wine ! Wine 1 I sjy ! 

ESTHER 

Ahasueras, wait ! 

Mf-thinks good music is wine turned to sound. 

Here comes thy minstrel with an offering 

Pressed from the ripened fruit of my fond heart. 

Mine own the words and mine the melody 

And may it linger longer in thine ear 

Than on thy Up would stay the taste of w.nc. 

Sing on I minstrel 

When from the field returning, 
Lore is a warrior's yearning. 
Love in his heart it burning, 
Love is his dream. 



HONEYMOON SCENE 

Talt not to him of (Nry, 
Speak not of faces gory, 
Sing of love's tender story. 
Make it thy theme. 
Sing of his lady's tresses, 
Sing of the smile that blesses, 
Sing of the sweet caresses. 

And yet again 
Sing of fair children's faces, 
Sing of the dear home j^nca, 
Sing till the vacant places, 

Ring with thy strain. 
Yet as the days go speeding, 
Shall he arise unheeding 
Love songs or words of pleading. 

Strong in his might I 
Helmet and armour wearing. 
Hies he to deeds of daring, 
Forth to the battle faring. 
Back to the fight. 
Sing now of ranks contending, 
Sing of loud voices blending. 
Sing of great warriors sending 

Death to their foes I 
Sing of war missiles humming. 
Strike into martial drumming, 
Sing of great victory coming. 
As forth he goes. 



«35 



! \ 



136 



THE COST 

Back to the battle faring, 
Back into deeds of daring, 
Back to the fight. 

AllA'UfSAS 

No less a lover but a greater man 

A better warrior and a nobler king, 

1 will be from this hour for thy dear sake. 



lip ' 



THE COST 

GOD finished woman in the twilight hour 
And said, " To-morrow thou shah find thy place : 
Man's complement, the mother of the race— 
With love the motive power — 
The one compelling power." 

All night she dreamed und wondered. With the light 
Her lover came — and then she understood 
The purpose of her being. Life was good 

And all the world seemed right — 

And nothing v.as, but right. 

She had no wish for any wider sway: 

By all the questions of the world unvexed, 

Supremely loving and superbly sexed, 

She passed upon her way— 

Her feminine fair wa»-. 



THE COST ,,7 

But God neglected, when He f-ishioneJ man 
To fuse the molten splendour of his mind 
With that sixth sense He gave to womankind. 

And so He marred His plan — 

Ay, marred His own great plan. 

She asked so little, and so much she gave. 

That man grew selfish : and she soon hccamc. 

To God's great sorrow and the whole world's shame, 

Man's sweet and patient slave 

His uncomplaining slave. 

Vet in the nights (oh! nights so dark and long) 
She clasped her little children to her breast 
And wept. And in her anguish of unrest 

She thought upon her wrong ; 

She knew how great her wrong. 

And one sad hour, she said unto her heart, 
" Since thou art cause of all mv hitter pain, 
I bid thee abdicate the throne : let brain 

Rule now, and do his part 

His masterful, strong part." 

She wept no more. By new ambition stirred 
Her ways led out, to regions strange and vast. 
Men stood aside and watched, dismayed, aghast. 

And all the world demurred — 

Misjudged her, and demurred. 



i m 



•38 



THE VOICE 



Still on and up, from sphere to widening sphere, 
Till thorny paths bloomed with the rose of fame. 
Who once demurred, now followed with acclaim : 

The hiss died in the cheer — 

The loud applauding cheer. 

She stood triumphant in that radiant hour, 

Man's mental equal, anH competitor. 

But ah I the cost ! from out the heart of hei 

Had gone love's motive power — 

Love's all-compelling power. 



THE VOICE 

I DREAMED a Voice, of one Cid-authorised, 
Cried loudly thro' the world," Disarm! Disarm!" 
And there was consternation in the camps ; 
And men who strutted under braid and lace 
Beat on their medalled breasts, and wailed, " Undone !" 
The word was echoed from a thousand hills, 
And shop and mill, and factory and forge, 
Where throve the awful industries of deitli. 
Hushed into silence. Scrawled upon the doors, 
The passer read, " Peace bids her children starve." 
But foolish women clasped their little sons 
And wept for joy, not reasoning lilie men. 

Again the Voice commanded: "Now go forth 
And build a world for Progress and for Peace. 



THE VOICE 



'39 



Thi, work has waited since the earth was shaped • 
But men were fighting, .-.nd they could not toil. 
The needs oflife outnumber needs of death 
Leave death with God. Go forth. I say, and build.' 

And then a sudden, comprehensive joy 

Shone in the eye. of men , and one who thought 

Only of conquests and of victories 

Wolce from his gloomy reverie and cried, 

" Ay, -cme and build ( I challenge all \o try 

And I will make a world more beautiful 

Than Eden was before the serpent came." 

And like a running flame on western wilds. 

Ambition spread fro;;, n.ind to listening mind, 

And lo ! the looms were busy once again, 

And all the earth resounded with men', toil. 

Vast palaces of Science graced the world ; 
The.r banquet tables spread with feasts of truth 
for all who hungered. Music kissed the air 
Once rent with boom of cannons. Statues glean.ed 
from wooded ways, where ambushed armies hid 
In times of old. The sea and air were gay 
With shining sails that soared from land to land. 
A universal language of the world 
Made nations kin, and poverty was known 
But as a word marked "obsoleie," like war 
The arts were kindled with celestial fire' ' 
New poets sang co Homer's fame grew dim • 



'i Wl 




ir 



140 



GOD'S ANSWER 



And brush and chitel gave the wondering race 
Sublimer treasure! than old Greece displayed. 
Men differed still j fierce argument arose, 
For men are human in this human sphere ; 
But unarmed Arbitration stood between 
And Reason settled in a hundred hours 
What War disputed for a hundred years. 

Oh, that a Voice, of one God-authorised 
Might cry to all mankind. Disarm ! Disarm ! 



I i 



GOD'S ANSWER 

ONCE in a time of trouble and of care 
I dreamed I talked with God about my pain ; 
With sleepland courage, daring to complain 
Of what I deemed ungracious and unfair. 
" Lord, I have grovelled on my knees in prayer 
Hour after hour," I cried ; " yet all in vain ; 
No hand leads up to heights I would attain, 
No path is shown me out of my despair." 

Then answered God : " Three things I gave to thee— 
Clear brain, brave will, and strength of mind and 
heart. 
All implements divine, to shape the way. 
Why shift the burden of thy toil on Me f 
Till to the utmost he has done his part 

With all his might, let no man t/are to pray." 



THE EDICT OF THE SEX 



H< 



THE EDICT OF THE SEX 

TWO thousand yean had pajied lince Christ 
was born, 
When suddenly there rose a mighty host 
Of women, sweeping to a central goal 
As many rivers sweep on to the sea. 
They came from mountains, valleys, and from coasts. 
And from al! lands, all nations, and all ranks. 
Speaking all languages, but thinking one. 
And that one language — Peace. 

' Listen,' they said, 
And straightway was there silence on the earth. 
For men were dumb with wonder and surprise, 
' Listen, O mighty masters of the world. 
And hear the edict of all womankind : 
Since Christ His new commandment give to men, 
Ltvi one antther, full two thousand years 
Have passed away, yet earth is red with blood. 
The strong male rulers of the world proclaim 
Their weakness, when we ask that war shall cease. 
Noiv will the poor weak women of the world 
Proclaim their strength, and say that war fhall end. 
Hear, then, our edict : Never from this day 
Will any woman on the crust of earth 
Mother a warrior. We have sworn the oath 
And will go barren to the waiting tomb 
Rather than breed strong sons at wars behest. 
Or bring fair daughters into life, to bear 




'4» 



THE EDICT OF THE SEX 



The p«in of travail, for no end but war. 
Ay ! let the race die out for lack of babet: 
Better a dying race than endless wars ! 
Better a silent world than noise of gum 
And clash of armies. 

" Long we asked for pe.Tc, 
And oft you promised — but to fight again. 
At last you told us, war must ever be 
While men existed, laughing at our plea 
For the disarmament of all mankind. 
Then in our hearts flamed such a m.iJ desire 
For peace on earth, as lights the world at timer. 
W.th some great conflagration ; and it spread 
From distant land to land, from sea to sea. 
Until all women thought as with one mind 
And spoke as with one voice ; and now behold ! 
The great Crusading Syndicaf of Peace, 
Filling all space with one supreme resolve. 
Give us, O men, your word that war shall end : 
Disarm the world, and we will give you sons — - 
Sons to construct, and daughters to adorn 
A beautiful new earth, where there shall be 
Fewer and finer people, opulence 
And opportunity and peace for all. 
Until you promise peace no shrill birth-cry 
Shall sound again upon the aging earth. 
We wait your answer." 

And the world was still 
While men considered. 



THE WORLDCHILD 



143 



THE WORLD-CHILD 

A T times I am the mother of the world ; 
-**■ And mine seem all its sorrows, and it? fear.. 
That rose, which in each mother-heart is curled. 

The rose of pity, opens with my tears. 
And, uaking in the night, 1 lie and hark 

To the lone sobbing, and the wild alarms, 
Of my World-child, a wailing in the dark : 

The child I fain would shelter in my arm.. 
I call to it (as from another room 

A mother calls, what time she cannot go) : 
"Sleep well, dear world; Love hides b.hind th's 
gloom. 

There is no need for wakefulness or woe, 
The long, long right is almost past and goiie, 
rhc day is near." And yet the world weeps on. 

Again I follow it, throughout the day. 

With anxious eyes I see it trip and fall. 
And hurt itself in many a foolish way : 

Childlike, unheeding warning word or call. 
I see it grasp, and grasping, break the toys 

It cried to own, then toss them on the floor 
And, breathless, hurry after fancied joys 

'I'hat cease to please, when added to its store 



•+♦ 



THE HEIGHTS 



I see the lacerations on its hands. 

Made by forbidden tools ; but when it weeps, 
I also weep, as one who understand? ■ 

And having been a child, the memorjr Iceeps, 
Ah, mjr poor world, however wrong thy part, 
Still is there pity in my mother-heart 



;; ' 



THE HEIGHTS 

I CRIED, " Dear Angel, lead me to the heights, 
And spur me to the top." 
The Angel answered, " Stop 
And set thy house in order ; make it fair 
For absent ones who may be speeding there. 
Then will we talk of heights." 

I put my house in order. " Now lead on !" 

The Angel said, " Not yet ; 

Thy garden is beset 
By thorns and tares ; go weed it, so all those 
Who come to gaze may find the un vexed rose ; 

Then tvill we journey on." 

I weeded well my garden. " All is done." 

The Angel shook his head. 

" A bro'ar stands," he said, 
"Outside I / gates ; till thou hast given heed 
And soothed his sorrow, and supplied his need. 

Say not that all is done." 



"THE HOUSE OF JULIA' 



•45 



The beggar left mc singing. " Now it la«— 

At last the path ii clear." 

" Nay, there it one draws near 
Who leeks, like thee, the difficult hish-.vay. 
He lacks thy courage ; cheer him through the day. 

Then will we cry, ' At la«t I'" 

I helj^ed my weaker brother. " Nl.u the heights ; 

Oh, guide me, Angel, guide !" 

The Presence at my side, 
Wiih radiant face, said, "Look, where are we now '" 
And lo ! we stood upon the mountain's brtnv— 

'I'he heights, the shining heights ! 



ON SEEING "THE HOUSE OF JULIA" AT 
HERCULANEUM 

^JOT great Vesuvius, in all his ire, 
J- ^ Nor all the centuries, could hide your >ha.iie 
There is the little window where you came, 
With eyes that woke the demon of desire, 
And lips like rose leaves, fashioned out of fire ; 
And from the lava leaps the molten flame 
Of your old sins. The wall, cry out your name - 
Your face seems rising from the funeral pyre. 
There must have dwelt, within your fated town. 
J-'ull many a virtuous dame, and noble wife 
Who made your beauty seem a, star » sun j 



L 



fnln^ 



■4« 



A PRAYER 



How itrange ihe centuriei have handed down 
Your name, fair Julii, of immoral life. 
And left the others to oblivion. 



I Ht 



■I ' 



A PRAYKR 

MASTER of iweet and loving lure. 
Give us the open mind 
'^o knew religion meant no more, 
No lets, than being kind. 

Give ut the comprehensive sight 

That teei another's need ; 
And let our aim to tet things right 

Prove God impired our creed. 

Give us the toul to linow our kin 
That dwell in flock and herd, 

The voice to fight man't shameful tin 
Againtt the beast and bird. 

Give us a heart with love so fraught 

For all created things. 
That even our unspoken thougtil 

Bears healing on its wings. 

Give us religion that will cope 

With life's colossal woes. 
And turn a radiant face of hope 

On troopt of pigmy foes 



Mi 



WHAT IS RIGHT LIVING 

Give ui the mastery of our firr- 
In thoughti so warm and white, 

They itamp u; on the browa of hale 
Love's glorious seal of light. 

Give ua the strong, courageous faith 
That malcei of pain i friend, 

And calls the secret word of death 
"Beginning," and not "end." 



'47 



WHAT IS RIGHT LIVING t 

WHAT is right living > Ju.t to do your best 
When worst seems easier. To bear the ills 
Of daily life with patient cheerfulness 
Not waste dear time recounting them. 

To talk 
Of hopeful things when doubt is in the air. 
To count your blessings often, giving thaiilts. 
And to accept your sorrows silently. 
Nor question why you suffer. To accept 
The whole life as one perfected plan. 
And welcome each event as part of it. 
To work, and love your work ; to trust, to pray 
For larger usefulness and clearer sight. 
This is right living, pleasing in God's eyes. 
Though you be heathen, heretic or Jew. 



«4« 



JUSTICE 



JUSTICE 

HOWEVER inexplicable may item 
Event and circumstance upon this earth, 
Though favours fill on those who none esteem, 

And insult and indifference greet worth ; 
Though poverty repays the life of toil, 

And riches spring where idle feet have troil, 
And storms lay waste the patiently tilled soil — 
Yet Justice sways the universe ot God. 

As undisturbed the stately stars remain 
Beyond the glare of day's obscuring light, 

So Justice dwells, though mortal eyes in vain 
Seek it persistently by reason's sight. 

But when, oner freed, the illumined soul looks out. 

Its cry will be, " O God, how could I doubt I" 



!^ 



f ii 



TIME'S C.\7.R 

TIME looked me in the eyes while passing by 
The milestone of the year. That piercing gaze 
Was both an accusation and reproach. 
No speech was needed. In a sorrowing look 
More meaning lies than in complaining words. 
And silence hurls ai keenly as reproof. 



TIME'S GAZE 



149 



Oh. opulent, kind ^,,„ of rich hours 
Whavcluscd thy benefit, I A, babe, 

Un,tnng, necklace, laughing at the ,ound 
Ofpncee„ jewels dropping one by one, 

into the hidden corners of the past. 

And I have let large opportunitic, 

i-or h,gh endeavour move unheeded by, 

Wh.Ie l,tt e joy, and care, absorbed my strength 

And yet, dear Time. ,et to my credit this: ' 

Be patient with me. Though the .un ,Ia„ts v.es: 

The day h..s not yet finished, and I feel 

Necessity for action and resolve 

Be« in upon my consciousness. I know 

The earths eternal need of earnest souK 

And the great hunger of the v.orld for Loe. 
I now the goal .0 high achievement lie, 
Through .he dull pathway of self-conquest first • 
And on the statrs of little duties done 
VVe cl.mb ,0 joys th.nt stand thy test. O Tim. 

Be patient with me, and another day ' 

Perchance, in passing by. thine eyes may smile. 



150 THE WORKER AND THE WORK 






THE WORKER AND THE WORK 

IN wh.1t I do I note the marring fla«, 
'I'hc imperfections of the work I sec ; 
Nor am I one who rather Ji than //•, 
Since its reversal is Creation's law. 

Nay, since there lies a better and a worse, 
A lesser and a larger, in men's view, 
I would be better than the thing I Jo, 

As God is greater than His universe. 

He shaped Himself before He shaped one world : 
A million eons, toiling day and night. 
He built Himself to majesty and might. 

Before the planets into space were hurled. 

And when Creation's early work was donr. 
What crude beginnings out of chaos came — 
A formless nebula, a wavering flame, 

An errant comet, a voracious sun. 

And, still unable to perfect His plan, 

What awful creatures at His touch found hittli- 
Those protoplasmic monsters of the earth. 

That owned the world before He fashioned M.n 

And now, behold the poor unfinished state 
Of this. His latest masterpiece I Then why, 
Seeiig the flaws in my own work, sh-iuld I 

Be troubled that no voice proclaims it great ? 



THK WORKER ANU rnK WORK 



Before ™e„c the ccling round, of ycrs; 

rt million lives, upon a million spheres. 

My uorU build, as best I can and m,v 
I^nowing a'l mortal cfFort ends in du'^t. 

IbuiIdinyscIf.not„In,,y,bu.n,n,t, 
Knowing, or good, or ill, that self mustiuj. 

Along the age., out, and on, afar 

.s journey lead,, and mu,t perforce be maJe 

When all these solar systems shalMi.perse 
Perchance this labour, and .his self control 

Mar find regard; and ..completed, J' 
'■' "'"? '" 'P«e. a little universe. 



i?i 



ART THOU AMVE ? 

ART thou alive > Nn- „„, . 

From active body and from beating heart. 



52 ART TMOU ALIVE? 

It \s the vital spark, the unseen fire, 
Tliat moves the ir.ind to reason and arpirc ; 
It is the force that bids emotion roll, 
In might)' billows from the surging soul. 

It is the light that grows from hour to hour. 

And floods the brain with consciousness of power ; 

It is the spirit dorinating all, 

And reaching God with its imperious call, 

Until the shining glory of His face, 

Illuminates each sorrowful, d;trii place ; 

It is the truth that sets the bondsman free. 

Knowing he will be what he wills to be. 

With its unburicd dead the earth is sad. 

Art thou alive ? proclaim it ami be glad. 

Perchance the dead may hear thee and arise, 

Knowing they live, and />ere is Para lisc. 



TO-DAY 

ILOVR this age of energy and force, 
Expectantly 1 greet each pregnjnt hour ; 
Emerging from the all-creative source, 

Supreme with promise, imminent with power. 
The strident whistle and the clanging bell, 

The noise of gongs, the rush of motored things 
Are but the prophet voices which foretell 

A time when thought may use unfettered wings. 



TU-DAV 



'53 



Too long the drudgery of ciril, has b«n 

A barrier 'twixt man and his own mind. 
Remove the .tone, and lo ! the Christ within ; 

For He is there, nnd who so secies shall find. 
The Great Inventor is the Modern Priest. 

He paves the pathway to a higher goal. 
Once from the grind of e.-idlcss toil released 

Man will explore the kingdom of his soul. 
And a!! this restless rush, this strai.i and strife, 

This noise a ,d gbrc is hut the fanfarsde 
That ushers in the more majestic life 

Where faith shall vvallc with science, unafraid. 
1 feel the strong vibrations of the earth, 

I sense the coming of an hour lublime, 
And bless the star that watched above my birth 
And let me liie in this imporia.u time. 



THE LADDER 

T TNTO each mortal who comes to earth 
V-' A ladder is given by God, at birth, 
And up this ladder the soul must go. 
Step by step, from the valley below; 
Step by step, to the centre of space,' 
On this ladder of lives, to the Starting Place. 
Ill time departed (which yet endures) 
I ihaped my ladder, and you shaped yours. 



'54 



III' 



TIIK LADDER 

Whatever they arc— they are wh.>t uc inaje : 

A UdJer of light, or a LJJcr of shade, 

A ladder of love, or a hateful thing, 

A ladder of itreii?th, or a wavering string. 

A ladder of gold, or a ladder of «traw, 

l-.ach it the ladder of righteous law. 

We flung them away at the call of dejth, 
We took them again wi-.h the next live breath. 
For a kecjicr stands by the great birtli gates ; 
As each soul [ a.ses, its ladder waits. 
Though mine be narrow, and yours be broad, 
On my ladder alone cm I climb to God. 
On your ladder alone can your feet ascend, 
For none may borrow, and none may lend. 

If toil and trouble and pain are found, 
Twisttd and corded, to form each round, 
If rusted iron or mouldering wood 
Is the fragile fran.e, you must make it good. 
You must build it over and fashion it strong. 
Though the task be hard as your life is long ; 
Fur up thii ladder the pathway leads 
To earthly pleasures and spirit needs ; 
And all that may come in another way 
Shall be but illusion, and will not stay. 

In useless effort, then, watte no time ; 
Rebuild your ladder, and climb and climb. 



WHO IS A CHRISTIAN / 



"55 



WHO IS A CHRISTIAN? 

WHO is a Christian in this Christian Und 
Of many churches and of lofty spires } 
Not he who sits in soft upholstered pews 
Hought by the profits of unholy greed, 
And looks devotion, while he thinks of gain. 
Not he who sends petitions from the lips 
That lie to-morrow in the street and mart. 
Not he who fattens on another's toil, 
And fiingi his unearned riches to the poor, 
Or aids the heathen with a lessened wage, 
And builds cathedrals with an increased rent. 

Christ, with Thy great, s.veet, simple creed of love, 
How must Thou weary of Earth's " Christian " clans, 
Who preach salvation through Thy saving blood 
While planning slaughter of their fellow men. 
Who is a Christian I It is one whose life 
Is built on love, on kindness and on faith j 
Who holds his brother as his other self; 
Who toils for justice, equity and PEACE, 
And hides no aim or purpose in his heart 
That will not chord with universal good. 

Though he be pagan, heretic or Jew, 

That man is Christian and beloved of Christ. 



Il« 



THE GOAL 



5' 



THE GOAL 

ALL your wonderful inventions, 
Alt your houiei vast and tall. 
All your great gun-fronted vetaeli, 

Every fort and every wall. 
With the passing of the ages. 

They shall pass and they shall fall. 

As you sit among the idols 
That your avarice gave birth. 

As you count the hoarded treasures 
That you think of priceless worth, 

Time is digging tombi to hide them 
In the bosom of the earth. 

There shall come a great convulsion 

Or a rushing tiJal wave, 
Or t sound of mighty thunders 

From a subterranean cave, 
And a boasting world's possessions 

Shall be buried in one grc 'u 

From the Centuries of Silence 
We are bringing back again 

Buric''. vase and bust and column 
And the gods they worshipped then, 

la the strange unmentioned cities 
Built by prehistoric men. 



THE SPUR 

Did they . teal, .„d lie, and .laughter? 

Did they steep their soul, in .hame ? 
Uid they .ell eternal virtue. 

Just to win a passing Came ? 

Did they give the gold of honour 
for the tinsel ol" a name ! 

We are hurrying altogether 

Toward the .iicncc and the night- 

1 here is nothing north the seeling ' 
But the sun-lisscd moral height _ 
There is nothing worth the doing 
But the doing of the r;^,*/. 



•57 



THE SPUR 
J ASKED the rock beside the road what joy existence 

" Tnti""'" ' ""'"'"" ^"" -^ '«- -" »-- 

I »sked .he truffle-seeking swine, as rooting by he 
went, ' ' ^ 

" ^"'coment ••^'"'" °^^°"' '■''' '" ^'-^ ^^"■"^'1 °"'' 
I asked a slave, who toiled and i 



>ng meant. 



1 sung, ju.t what hi. .ing. 



He plodded on hi. changeles. way, and „id, "I a„ 



content. 



I aoL 



i;8 



THE SPUR 



I aiked a plutocrat otgreai, on what hi^ thoughis were 

bent. 
He chinked the lilver in his purie, anJ said, " 1 am 

content.' 
1 a«ked the mighty ffirest tree from whence its fune 

was tent. 
Its thousand branches spoke as one, and said, " Fr.nn 

discontent." 
1 asked the mesbage speeding on, by wI.ki great law was 

tent 
God't secret from the waves of space. It said, " From 

discontent." 
1 asked the marble, where the works of Ciod and man 

were blent. 
What brought the statue from the block. It answered, 

" Discontent." 
1 asked in Angel, looking down on earth with gaze 

intent, 
How man should rise to larger grov.th. Quoth he, 
" Through discontent." 



AWAKENED! 

SLOWLY the People waken : they have been. 
Like weary soldiers, sleeping in tlieir itnn. 
While traiton tiptoed through the silent camp 



AVVAKtNED! 
Intent on plunder. SudJenly . ,ound_ 
A Cirele« moveme.u of too bold . ihief- 

V"" °" "^"" ''"t" i ■hen a.,.,Ur .„r, 
A third eric, out a «,rning, ,nj .t l.,t ' 
The people .re awake! Oh. „ hen „ one 
i he many rise, united and =lerr, 
With Justice for their motto, they reflect 
I he mighty force or God's Omnipotence 
And nothing stand, before th.m. Lust, CVrcrd 
T,r,n:.,cal Corruption long in p„„.er, ' 

So tha, the Jef. may dove. Church .„d S.,,00, ' 
Monopoly, whose mandate took from To,l ^ 
ThcWhcr Earth, that Idlenes. might loll 
And breed the Mon.ter of Colo..al Wealth- 
All .hc.e mus, fall beiore the gathering For.c 
Of public indignation. That old strife 
Which mark, the progreM of each century, 
rhe war of Right with Might, is on once more 
And shame tohim who doe. not take his .tand 
This i, the weightiest moment of ,11 ,i„,. 

And on the is.ues of the present hour 
A nation', honour and 4 country's peace 
A People', future, ay, a World',, dependl. 
Until the vital question, of the day 

Who rob the coffer, of the uving poor 
Are led from fashion's fc„ts,„p,i.o„ fare 



My 



i6o SHADOWS 


AnJ tjpght the savi ij ^rucc of honest wnrl — 


Till Labour cla!m> the privilege of toil 


And toil the proceeji of iti labour iharcs — 


Let no miin ilccp, let no man dare to sleep 1 


SHADOWS 


T AM forr>- in the glijncis 

A Of the joyi that crown my days, 


Fur the souls that ait in sadness 


Or walk uninviting ways. 


<.)n the radiance of my labour 


Tliat a loving fate bestowed, 


Falls the shadow of my neighbour. 


Crushed beneath a thankless load. 


A:; the canticle of pleasure 


From my lovclit altar rolls. 


There is one discordant measure, 


Ai I think of homeless souls. 


And I know that grim old story, 


Preached from pulpits, i> not so. 


For no God could sit in glory 


And see sinners writhe below. 


In that great eternal Centre 


Where all human life has birth, 


Bouudlest love and pity enter 


And flow downward tu the rarth. 



THE NKW COMMANDME VI 
And .11 louls in ,}„ „, .orrow 

Arc but pa„i„g through the night, 
And I jtnow on some i. ...nrrow 

Godwin love them into light. 



i6i 



THK NEW comma; .DMENT 

T HEARD a .irange voice ,m ,!,. J, .,„,. .i|i,, 
^ Ai from ., ,,ar an echo mifht be failing. 
rt .pnlce four .yll,,hle., concise and bri -f 
Charged with i God-sent message of r.li -f : 

■uTto'V""-' "'•■>•""-''-'-« --row. 
■lark to ,he new command and comfort b..:row. 

Kven a, the .Master left Hi. cross below 
And ros- to Paradise, let go, let go. 

Forget your wrong,, your trouble, .„d yo.r losses. 
For w,th the tool, of thought wc build our cro,.«. 
Forget your grief,, all grujg„ and all fear 
And enter Paradise-its gates are near. 
Heaven i, a realm by loving «,„,.„„,,d 
And hell was fashioned by the hear,, that hated. 
Love, hope and trust , believe all joy. are voum 
L.fe F.,s the soul whose confiJencVendLT' 



i6: 



SUMMKR IJREAMS 






'The blows of adverse fatf, by larger pleasures, 
A« after jtorms the soil yields fuller measures. 
Lcl go the crosi ; roll self — the -itone — a«jy 
And dwell with Love in P.tr.idise to-day. 



lift' 



SUMMER DRKAMS 

WHEN the Summer sun ib shining. 
And the green things fu^h and gro'.v. 
Oft my heart runs over me-isurt. 
With its flowing fount of pleasure, 
As I feel the sea winds blow ; 
Ah, then life is good, I know. 

And I think of meet birds builr iv. 

And of children fair and free ; 
And of glowing lun-kissed me,iduw% 
And of tender twilight shstdow?, 

.^nd of boats upon the sea. 

Oh, then life seems good to me t 

Then unbidden and uriwiiUcd, 

Come the darker, sadder sighi- ; 
City shop and stifling alley, 
Where misfortune's children rally ; 
And the hot ciimc-brccding ii:glils. 
And tlic dearili of God's dciigiits. 



THK BKKAKING OK CHAINS 
And I think of narroiv prisons 

Where unhappy songbirds dwell, 
And of cruel pcjis and cages 
Where some captured wild thing rages 
I-ilic a madman in his cell, 
In the Zoo, the wild beasts' hell. 
And I long to lift the burden 

Of man's selfishness and sin ; 
And to open wide earth's treasures 
Of CJod's storehouse, full of pleasure., 
For my dumb and human kin. 
And to ask the whole world in. 



THE BRKAKISc; OK CHAINS 

BKTWKEN the ringing of bells „,J ,he mu-ical 

I hear , sound like the breaking of chains, all throuet. 

these Christma times. 
F..r the thought of the -vorW is ,v,l,in<; out of a slumb-r 

I'ccp and long, 
And the race is beginning to understand ho» Right c« 

.nasier Wrong. 

And the eyei of the world are opening «ide, and great 

arc the truths they see ; 
And the heart of the world is singing a song, and its 

burden is " Be free !" 



I $4 



THE BREAKING OF CHAINS 



Now the thcught of the world and the wish of the 

world and the song of the world will make 
A force so strong that tlie fetters forged for a million 

years must break. 
Fetters of superstitious fear have bound the race to 

creeds 
That hindered the up\". ard march of man to the larger 

faith he needs. 
Fetters of greed and pride have in.-.i!c the race bow 

down to kings ; 
But the pompous creed and the costly throne must 

yield to simpler things. 

The thought of the world has climlicd above old paths 

for centuries trod ; 
And cloth and crown no longer mean the " vested 

power of God." 
The race no longer benJ- hcncith the weight of Adam's 

sin. 
But stands erect and knovs itself the Maker's first of 

kin. 
And the need of the world and the wish of the world 

and the song of the w.jrld I hear, 
All through the clanging and clashing of bells, thit 

Christmas time o' the year ; 
And I hear a sound like the breaking of chains, and it 

secmi to ay to me, 
In [he voice of One who spoke of old, "Ihe 1 ruth 

shall make men free." 



. F^wssac- :^z:r7^^'T i 



DECEMBER 



i«5 



DECEMBER 

T TPON December'i windy portico 

V-/ The Old Year stood, and looked out where the 

sun 
Went wading down the We.t, through drifting clouds. 
"I, too, shall sink full soon to rest," he sijhed, 
"And follow where my children's feet have trod ; 
Brave January, beauteous May and June, 
My lovely daughter., and my valiant wiis. 
All, all save one, have ieft me for that bourne 
Men call the Past. It stems but yesterday 
I saw fair August, laughing with the Sea, 
Snaring the Earth with her seductive wiles, 
Aid making conquest, even of the Sun. 
Yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn." 
Then spake December, from an open door : 
"Father, the night grows cold ; come in and rest. 
Sit with me here beside this glowing grate ; 
I have not left thee ; thou art not alone ; ' 
My house is thine ; all mrm with love and light 
And bright with holly and with cedar sweet. ' 
My stalwart »rm in thine to lean upon ; 
The feast is spread, 1 only wait for thee j 
God smiles upon thy dead, smile thou on me." 
Then through the open door the Old Year passed 
And darkness settled on the outer world. 



la 






^^ 



"wjiv^r'' 



■r 



i66 



"THE WAY" 



"THE WAY" 

HOWEVER certain of the way thou art, 
Take not the self appointed leader's part, 
Follow no man, and by no man be led, 
And no man Itad. Jwtiie, and go ahead. 
Thy path, though leading straight unto the goal, 
Might prove confusing to another soul. 
The goal i» central ; but from east, .ind west. 
And north, and south, we set out on the quest ; 
From lofty mountains, and from valleys low :— 
How could all find one common way to go .' 

!-ord Buddha to the wilderness was brought. 

Lofd Jesus to the Cross. And yet, think not 

Bt solitude, or cross, thou canst achieve, 

Uk in thine own true Self thou dost believe. 

Know thou art One, with life's Almighty Source, 

Then »< thy feet set on the certain Course. 

Nor doe? it matter if thou feast, or fa5t. 

Or what ;hT creed— or where thy lot is cast ; 

In halU of pleasure or in crowded mart, 

tn city Kfeets, or trom all men apart — 

Thy path .eadi to th< Light ; and peace and power 

Shall U thy portion, growing hour by hour. 

Fo'iow no mtn. and by no man be led. 

An4 oo mar, .««i But ^'sw «nJ 8° »''"<1' 



THE LEADER TO BE 
THE LEADKR TO BE 



167 



Ty HAT shall the leader be in th.t gre.-,, <1,v 
'' VUcn we >vho sleep .„d dream rhat'we are 
slaves 
Shall wake and kno,v that Libert,- is our, = 
Mark well that .v„rd-„o, yours, not m,nc. but ours 

^.r trough the mingling of the separate .rean,s 
Ul individual protest md desire. 

In one united sea of purpose, lie's 
The course to Freedom. 

H ,. J . ^^''=n Progression takes 

Her undisputed right ofwav, and sinks 
1 he old tradition, and conventi..,,. where 
They may not rise, what shall the leader be I 

No mighty warrior .kille.l ,„ crafts of ,vur 
So>v,ng earth's fertile furrows with dead men 
And itainmg crimson G_,d's cerulean sea. 
To prove h,s prowess to a shuddering wor^J. 

Nor yet a monarch with a silly crown 
Perched on an en.pty head, an in-bred h-ir 
To senseless titles and anemic blood, 

No ruler, purchased by the perjured vote, 
Of striving demagogue, whose god i, gold 
Not one of these shall lead to Liberty 



n 



,(| THE LEADER TO BE 

The weakne.. of the world crie. out for .trcngth. 

The .orrow of the world cries out for hope. 

Its suffering cries for kindness. 

He who leads 

Must then be strong .nd hopeful .. the d.wn 

That rises unafraid and full of joy 

\bove the blackness of the darkest night. 

He must be kind to ««'?]';■"«!'""«'.. 

Kind a. the Krishna, Buddha and the Christ. 

And full oflove for all created life. 

Oh. not in war shall his great prowess I.e. 

Nor shall he find his pleasure m the chasc^ 

Too great for slaughter, fr.cnd of man and beast. 

Touching the borders of the Unseen Realms 
And brin'ging down to earth the.rrny.t.c ft 
To light our troubled pathways, wise and kmd 
And human to the core, so shall he be. 
The coming leader of the com.ng time. 



THE GREATER LOVE 
T TEAR thou my prayer, great God of opulence ; 
rl Give me no bless.r.gs. save as recumpcse 
For blessings which I lov.ngly bestow 
On needy stranger or on sufTcnng t.«. 
If Weali by chance, should on my pa.l> ap,-". 
Let Wisdom and Benevolence stand near, 



THE GREATER LOVE 169 

And Chuit}' within my portil wait, 
To guard me from acquaintance intimate. 

Vet in thii intricate great art of living 
Guide me away from misdirected giving, 
And 9how me how to spur the laggard soul 
To tttiie atone once more to gain the goal. 

Rfr»7' »r worldly efforts to attain 

Only as I develop heart and brain ; 

Nor tnnd me with the "Dollar Sign " above 

A boson void of sympathy and love. 

1 1 on the carrying winds my name be blown 
1 u any land or time beyond my own, 
Let it M)t be as one who gained the day 
By crowding oiherj from the chosen way ; 
Rather as one who missed the highest place 
?jusing to cheer spent runners in the race. 
To Jo — to have — is lesser than to BE : 
The greater boost I asit, dear God, from Thee. 



THANK GOD FOR LIFE 

THANK God for life, in such an age as thii, 
Ricii with the promises of better things. 
Thanli God tor oeing part of this great nation's heart, 
Whose strong pulsations are not ruled by kings. 



ivmm 



Ml 



,70 THANK GOD FOR LIFE 

Our th.nki for learlcM .nd protesting ipeech 

When cloven hoof, .how 'neath the robe, ol .tate. 

For u. no Krvile .ong of " King, can do no wrong. 
Not roy.l birth, but worth, make, ruler, great. 

Thank God f. . peace within our border lands. 
And for .<.. love of peace within cah wul. 

Who thi>.. on peace ha. wrought, mouic.HUare. .>f 
thought 
In the foundation of our future goal. 

Our thank, for love, and knowledge of love', law.. 

Love is a greater power than vested might. 
Love i. the central source of all enduring torce. 

Love i. the law that .ct. the whole world i.ght. 

Our thank, for that increa.ing torch of light 
The tlrele.. hand of science holds abroad. 

And may its growing bla.c shine on all hidden way. 
Till man behold, the silhouette of God. 



TIME ENOUGH 

I KNOW it is early morning, 
And hope is calling aloiid. 
And your heart is afire with Youth's desire 
To hurry along with the crowd. 



J^ 



>lti'nk«>jrA Vk 



TIME ENOUGH 17, 

But linger a bit by the roadiide. 

And lend a hand by the way, 
Tin a curious fact that a generout »ct 

Bring! lei»ure and luck to a day. 

1 know it is only the noontime — 

There is chance enough to be kind ; 
But the hours run fast when noon has passed 

And the shadows arc close behind. 
So thl-'t while the light is shining, 

And act ere the set of the sun, 
For the sorriest woe that a soul can know 

Is to think what it might have done. 
I know it is almost evening, 

But the twilight hour is long. 
If you listen and hceJ each cry of need 

You can right full many a wrong. 
For when we have finished the journey 

We will all look back and say : 
" On life's long mile there was nothing worth while 

But the good we did by the way." 



NEW YEAR'S DAY 

"\irHEN with clanging and with ringing 

» ~ Comes the year's initial Jay, 
1 can feel the rhythmic swinging 
Of the world upon its way ; 



"7* 



111 



:l 



NEW YEAR'S DAY 

And though Right »till weiri i fetter 
And though Juitice itill ii blind, 

Time'i beyond is »lw»yi better 
Thin the p«thi he letvei behind. 

In our eons of existence, 

As we circle through the night. 
We innihiUte the distince 

Twixt the dirkness «nd the light. 
From beginnings crude and lowly. 

Round ind round our souls h«« trod 
Through the circles, winding slowly 

Up to knowledge and to God. 
With each century departed 

Some old evil found a tomb, 
Some old truth was newly started 

In propitious soil to bloom. 
With each epoch some condition 
That has handicapped the race 
(Worn-out creed or superstition) 

Unto knowledge yields its place. 
Though in folly and in blindness 

And in sorrow still we grope. 
Yet in man's increasing kindness 

Li:s the world's stupendous hope i 
For our darkest hour of errors 

Ii as radiant as the dawn, 
Set beside the awful terrors 
Of the ages that have gone. 



IN AN OLD ART GALLERY 173 

And above the lad world'i »obbing. 

And the itrife of clin with cUii, 
I tin hear the mighty throbbing 

Of the heart of God in man j 
And I voice chants through the chiming 

Of the bells, and seemi to say, 
We are climbing, we are climbing, 

Ai we circle on our way. 



IN AN OLD ART GALLERY 

TJEFORE the statue of a giant Huji, 
■U There stood a dwarf, misshapen and uncouth. 
His lifted eyes seemed asking : " Why, in sooth. 
Was I not fashioned lilte this mighty one .' 
Would God show favour to an older son 
Like earthly kings, and beggar without ruth 
Another, who sinned only by his youth I 
Why should two lives in such divergence run !" 

Strange, as he gazed, that from a vanished pa.t 
No memories revived of war and strife, 
Of misused prowess, and of broken law. 
That old Hun's spirit, in the dwarf re-cast. 
Lived out the sequence of an earthly life. 
// wai tie itatue tfhimtilfhe saw ! 



MICROCOPY RESOIUIION TEST CHART 

(ANSI ood ISO TEST CHART No. 21 



1.0 !fi^ m 




^ APPLIED INA^GE I, 

SS". 165J East Mom Street 

S"-^ Rochester, New York U609 USA 

^^ (7'6) 482 - 0300 - Phone 

— ^S ("6) ^88 - 5989 - Fo. 



"74 



THE DECADENT 



TRUE BROTHERHOOD 

GOD, what a world, if men in street and mai 
Felt that same kinship of the numan heart 
Which makes them, in the face of flame and floo. 
Rise to the meaning of true Bruiherhood ! 



THE DECADENT 

AMONG the virile hosts he passed along. 
Conspicuous for an undetermined grace 
Of sexless beauty. In his form and face 
God's mighty purpose somehow had gone wrong. 
Then on his loom, he wove a careful song, 
Of sensuous threads ; a wordy web of lace 
Wherein the primal passions of the race 
And his own sins made wonder for the throng. 

A liltle pen prick opened up a vein. 

And gave the finished mesh a crimson blot— 
The last consum.mate touch of studied art. 
But those who knew strong passion and keen pain, 
Looked through and through the pattern and found 
not 
One single great emotion of the heart. 



LORD, SPEAK AGAIN 



175 



LORD, SPEAK AGAIN 

WHEN God had formed the Universe, He thought 
Of all the marvels therein to be wrought 
And to His aid then Motherhood waj brought. 

" My lesser self, the feminine of Me, 

She will go forth throughout all time," 4U0th He, 

" And make My world what I would have it be. 

" For I am weary, having laboured so, 

And for a c)cle of repose would go 

Into that silence which but God may know. 

"Therefore I leave .he rounding of My plan 
To Motherhood ; and that vvhici I bcg-11 
Let woman finish in perfecting man. 

"She is the soil : the human Mother Earth : 
She is the sun, that calls the seed to earth. 
She is the gardener, who knows its worth. 

"From Me, all seed, of any kind must spring. 
Divine the growth such seed and soil will bring. 
For all is Me, and 1 am everything." 

Thus having spoken to Himself aloud. 

His glorious face upon His breast He bowed. 

And sought rspose behind a wall of cloud. 



176 



LORD, SPEAK AGAIN 



Come forth, O God! though great Thy thought and 

good, 
In shaping woman for true Motherhood, 
Lord, speak again ; she has not understood. 

The centuries pass : the cycles roll along — 
The earth is peopled with a mighty throng, 
Yet men are fighting and the world goes wrong. 

Lord, spesk again, ere yet it be too late. 

Unloved, unwanted souls come through earth's gatt : 

The unborn child is given a dower of hate. 

Thy world progresses in all ways save one. 
In Motherhood, for which it was begun, 
Lord, Lord, behold how little has been done ! 

Children are spawned like fishes in the sand. 
With ignorance and crime they fill the land. 
Lord, speak again, till mothers understand. 

It is not all of Motherhood to know 

Conception pleasure or deliverance woe. 

Who plants the seed should help the shoot to grow. 

Better a barren soil than weed and tare, 
Or sickly plants that die for want of care 
In poisonous jungles, void of sun and air. 

True Motherhood is not alone to breed 
The human race j it is to know and heed 
Its holiest purpose and its highest need. 



MY HEAVEN 

Lord, speak again, so woman shall be stirred 
With the full meaning of that mighty word 
True Motherhood. She has not rightly heard. 



'77 



MY HEAVEN 

UNHOUSED in deserts of accepted thought, 
And lost in jungles of confusing creeds, 
My soul strayed, homeless, finding its own needs 
Unsatisfied with what tradition taught. 

The pros and cons, the little if» and ands, 
The but and maybe, and the this and that. 
On which the churches thicken and grow fat, 

I f'~und but structures built on shifting sands. 

And all their heavens were strange and far away. 
And all their hcUa were made luman hate ; 
And since for death I did not c..:e to wait, 

A hwven I fashioned for myself one day. 

Of happy thoughts I built it stone by stone. 
With joy of lift I draped each spacious room. 
With love's great light I drove away all gloom, 

And in the centre I made God a throne. 

And this dear heaven I set within my heart, 
And carried it about with me alway, 
And then the changing dogmas of the day 

Seemed alien to my thoughts and held no part. 



P 



178 



LIFE 



Now ai I tjke my heaven from place to place 
I find new rooms by love's revealing light, 
And death vAW give me but a larger sight 

To see my palace spreading into space. 



§ 



11 



LIFE 

ON a bleak, bald hill with a dull world under, 
The dreary world of the Commonplace, 
1 have stood when the whole world seemed a blunder 

Of dotard Time, in an aimless race. 
With worry about me and want before me — 
Yet deep in my soul was a rapture spring 
That made me cry to the grey sky o'er me : 
"Oh, I know this life is a go'jdiy thing 1" 

1 have given sweet years to a thanklcis duty 

While cold and starving, ihoug'.. clothed and fed. 
For a young heart's hunger ior joy and beauty 

Is harder to bear than the need of bread. 
I have watched the wane of a sodden season. 

Which let hope wither, and made care thrive. 
And through it all, without earthly reason, 

1 have thrilled with the glory effacing alive. 

And now I stand by the great sea's splendour, 
Where love and beauty feed heart and eye. 

The brilliant light of the sun grows tender 
Ai it ilant! to the shore of the by and by. 



GOD'S KIN 

I p ize each hour as a golden treasure^ 
A pearl Time drops from a broken string : 

And all my ways arc the ways of pleasure, 
And I know this life is a goodly thing. 

And I know, too, that not in the seeing, 

Or having, or doing the things we would. 
Lies that deep rapture that comes from being 

Jt one with the Purpose fjhich made all good. 
And not from Pleasure the heart may borrow 

That rare contentment for which we strive, 
Unless through trouble, and want, and sorrow 

It has thrilled with the glory of being alive. 



«79 



GOD'S KIN 

THERE is no summit you may not attain. 
No purpose which you maj' not yet achieve, 
If you will wait serenely and believe 
Each seeming loss is but a step toward gain. 

Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain ; 

Let nothing make you question, doubt or grieve ; 

Give only good, and good alone receive j 
And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain. 

That which you most desire awaits your word ; 
Throw wide the door and bid it enter in. 



^lii 



i8o 



CONQUEST 



Speak, «nd the strong vibrations shall be stirred ; 

Speak, and above earth's loud, unmeaning din 
Your silent declarations shall be heard. 

All things are possible to God's own kin. 



T 



CONQUEST 

'ALK not of strength, unul your heart has known 
And fought with weakness through long hours 
ilone. 

Talk not of virtue, till your conquering soul 
Has met temptation and gained full control. 

Boast not of garments, all unscorched by sin. 

Till you have passed, unscathed, through fires within. 

Oh, poor that pride the unscarred soldier shows. 
Who safe in camp, has never faced his foes. 



il i; 



THE STATUE 

A GRANITE rock in the mountain side 
Gazed on the world and was satisfied. 
It watched the centuries come and go. 
It welcomed the sunlight, yet loved the snow. 
It grieved when the forest was forced to fall, 
Yet joyed when steeples rose, whi ; and tall. 



THE STATUE ,g, 

In the Tilley below it, and thrilled to he»r 
The voice of the great town roaring near. 

When the mountain itream from its idle play 
Wai caught by the mill wheel and borne away 
And trained to labour, the grey rock mused 
" Trees and verc„< and stream are used 
By Man the Master ; but I remain 
Friend of the mountain, and star, and plain, 
Unchanged forever by God's decree. 
While passing centuries bow to me." 

Then all unwarned, with a mighty shock 
Out of the mountain was wrenched the rock. 
Bruised and battered and broken in heart. 
It was carried away to the common mart, 
Wrecked and ruined in piece and pride. 
" Oh, God is cruel," the granite cried, 
" Comrade of mountains, of stars the friend, 
By all deserted, how sad my end." 

A dreaming sculptor in passing by 
Gazed at the granite with thoughcful eye. 
Then stirred with a purpose supremely grand 
He bade his dream in the rock expand. 
And lo ! from the broken and shapeless mass 
That grieved and doubted, it came to pass 
That a glorious statue of priceless worth 
And infinite beauty, adorned the e«rtJ». 

'3 



PI 



Its 



SIRIVS 



SIRIUS 

" SiM Siriui cnisiJ the MiHy Way, lixty lUuiani 
lean have goHe:'—GktMTr P. Skrviss. 

SINCE Sirius crossed the Milky Way 
Full liity thousand years have gone, 
Yet hour b, hour, and day hy day, 
i hi« tireless star speeds on and on. 

Methinks he must be moved to mirth 

By that droll tale of Genesis, 
Which says creation had its birth 

For such a [.Jny world as this. 

To hear how One who fashioned all 
Those Solar Systems, tier on tiers. 

Expressed in little Adam's fall 
The purpose of a million spheres. 

And, witness of the endless plan. 

To splendid wrath he must be wrought 

By pigmy creeds presumptuous man 
Sends forth as God's primeval thought. 

Perchance firom half a hundred stars 
He hears as many curious things ; 

From Venus, Jupiter and Mars, 

And Saturn with the beauteous rings, 



SIRIUS 

There nu) be itudent. of the Cau.e 
Who send iheir revel.tioiu out, 

And formulate their code, oflawi, 

With neaven. for faith ir ; belli frr doub:. 

On pl.neti old ere form or place 

VVa, lent to earth, may dnv-i-wh,. k,.oH»- 
A (lod-like and pcrlcLted race 

That hailt great Sirius as he goes. 

In zones that circle moon and sun, 
'Twixt world and world, he may see -..ul. 

Whose span of earthly l,fe i, done 
Still journeying up to higher goals. 

And on dead planets grey ,„d cold 

Grim spectral souls, that harboured hate 

Life after life, l e may behold 
Descending to a darker fate. 

And on his grand majestic course 

He may have caught one glorious sight 

Of that vast shining central Source 

From which proceed, all Life, all Light. 

Since Siriuj crossed the Milky Way 
Full si ty thousand years have gone. 

No mortal man may Lid him stay, 
No morial man may speed him' on. 



■ 8) 



I 



m: 



1 84 AT FONTAINEBLEAU 

No mortil mind may comprehend 
What ii beyond, what wai tefore ; 

To Ciod be glory without end, 
Let man be humble and adure. 



H 


M 




J! 



AT FONTAINEBLEAU 

AT Fontainebleau, I law a little bed 
Fashioned of polished wood, with gold ornate, 
Ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and hate 
Once battled there, above a childish head, 
And there in vain, grief wept, and memory plead 
It was so small ! but ah, dear God, how great 
The part it played in one tad woman's fate. 
How wide the gloom, 'hat narrow object ihed. 

The symbol of an over-reaching aim, 

The emblem of a devastated joy, 

It spoke of glory, and a blasted home : 
Of fleeting honours, and disordered fame. 

And the lone passing of a fragile bo)-. 

It was the cradle of the King of Rome. 



SYMPATHV 



THE MASQUERADK 

J OOK in the eye, f trouble „ich ., mile, 
^ Extend your h,„d ,nd do not be .ftaiJ. 

T» but . fnenH who cme, to m«quer.dc 
And test your filth and courage for .while. 

Fly, and he follow, (a.i with threat and jeer 
Shrink. nd he deal, hard blow on Mingingl,', 
But b,dh,m welcome ...fnend,.ndlo. 

Thejeit » oft_,he masq .e will di.appear 



SYMPATHY 
T S the way h.rd and thorny, oh. my bro. • ' 
^ Do tempe«, beat, and adverse wild wind, blow , 

Yet w, h each morn you ri.e and onward go? 
Brother, I know, I know! ^ 

I, too, have journeyed so. 

I» your heart mad with longing, oh, my Mster? 
Are all great pass.ons in your brea.t aglow > 
Docs the white wonder of your own sou! blind you 

A dare you torn with rapture and with woo'' 
si-icr, 1 know, I know.' 

I, too, have suffered so. 



i 



1 




Ml 




1 


i : 


!i 


! ^ 



,84 SYMPATHY 

Is the road filled with snare and quicksand, pilgrim ? 

Do pitfalls lie where roses seem to grow ? 
And have you sometime, stumbled in the darkness, 

And are you bruised and scarred by many a Wow ? 
Pilgrim, I know, I know 1 
I, too, have stumbled so. 

Do you »end out rebellious cry and question, 
As mocking hours pass silently and slow. 

Dors your insistent " wherefore " bring nc, answer, 
While stars wax pale with watching and droop low 

I, U)0, have questioned so, 

But now / loaw, i i""" ■' 

To toil, to strive, to err, to .7, to grow, 

T, kve ihrn«ghal!—iV\i is the way to iniw. 



INTERMEDIARY 



WHEN from the prison of its body free, 
My soul shall soar, before it goes to The 
Thou great Creator, give it power to know 
The language of all sad, dumb things belov,-. 
And let me dwell a season still on earth 
Before 1 rise to some diviner birth : 
Invisible to men, yet seen and heard, 
And understood by sorrowing beast anu bud- 
Invisible to men, yet always near. 
To whisper counsel in the human car : 



INTERMEDIARY 187 

And with a spell to stay the hunter's hand 
And stir his heart to know and understand ; 
To plant within the dull or thoughtless mind 
The great religious impulse to be kind. 

Before I prune my spirit wings and rise 

To seek my loved ones in their paradise, 

Yea I even before I hasten on to see 

That lost child's face, so like a dream to me, 

I would be given this intermediate r61c, 

And carry comfort to each poor dumb soul : 

And bridge man's gulf of cruelty and sin 

By understanding of his lower kin. 

'Twixt weary driver and the straining steed 

On wings of mercy would my spirit speed. 

And each should know, before his journey's end, 

That in the other dwelt a loving friend. 

From zoo and jungle, and from cage and stall, 

I would translate each inarticulate call. 

Each pleading look, each frenzied act and cry, 

And tell the story to each passer-by ; 

And of a spirit's privilege possessed, 

Pursue indifference to its couch of rest, 

And whisper in its ear until in awe 

It woke and knew God's all-embracing law 

Of Universal Life — the One in All. 



ill 



i- . 



Lord, let this mission to my lot befall 



iir 



I it 



■ 88 



LIFE'S CAR 



LIFE'S CAR 



TTURRYupi' 



No lingering by old door« of doubt- 
No loitering by the way, 
No waiting a To-morrow car, 

When you can board To-day. 
Success is somewliere down the trad ; 

Before the chance is gone 
Accelerate your laggard pace. 
Swing on, I say, awing on — 
Hurry up ! 

" Step lively !" 
Belated louls are following fast. 

They shout and signal, "Wait." 
Conductor Time brooks no delay. 

He rings the bell of Fate. 
But you can give the man behind, 

With one hand on the bar, 
A final chance to brook defeat. 

And board the moving car. 
Step lively ! 

" Move up 1" 
Make way for others as you sit 

Or stand. This crowded earth 
Has room for every journeying soul 

Ea route to higher birth. 






LIFE'S CAR 

Ay, room and comfort, if no one 
Took double share or space. 

Nor let his greed and selfishness 
Absorb another's place. 
Move up I 

" Hold fast !" 
The jolting switch of obstacles 

With jarring rails is near. 
Stand firm of foot, be strong of grip, 

Brace well and have no fear. 
The Maker of the Car of Life 

Foresaw that curve — Despair, 
And hung the straps of faith, and hope. 

So you might grasp them there. 
Hold fast ! 



189 



OPPORTUNITV 

CEND forth your heart's desire, and wort and wait • 
i^ The opportunities of life are brought 
To our own doors, not by capricious fate, 
But by the strong compelling force of thought. 

THE AGE OF MOTORED THINGS 

'T^HE wonderful age of the world I sing— 

X The age of battery, coil and spring. 
Of steam, and storage, and motored thing. 



I go THE AGE OF MOTORED THINGS 

Though faith m»y slumber and art seem dead, 
And all that is spoken has once been said, 
And all that is written were best unread ; 

Though hearts are iron and thoughts arc steel, 

And all that has value is mercantile. 

Yet marvellous truths shall the age reveal. 

Ay, grei,ter the marvels this age shall find 
Than all the centuries left behind. 
When faith was a bigot and art was blind. 

Oh, sorry the search of the world for gods, 
Through faith th.it slaughters and art that lauds, 
While reason sits on its throne and nods. 

But out of the leisure that men will know. 
When the cruel things of the sad earth go, 
A Faith that is Knowledge shall rise and grow. 

In the throb and whir of each new machine 
Thinner is growing the veil between 
The visible earth and the worlds unseen. 

The True Religion shall leisure bring ; 
And Art shall awaken and Love shall sing : 
Oh, ho ! for the age of the motored thing ! 






NEW YEAR 



191 



NEW YEAR 

Mortal : 

'"^r^HE night is cold, the hour is late, the world is 
A bleak and drear ; 

Who is it knocking at my door i" 

Thb New Year : 

" I am Good Cheer." 

MoRTAt : 

" Your voice is strange ; I know you not j in 

sh'fdows dark I grope. 
What seek you here ." 

The New Year : 

"Friend, let me in ; my name is Hope." 

Mortal : 

" And mine is Failure ; you but mock the life you 

seek to bless. 
Pass on." 

The Ntw YtAn : 

"Nay, o(en wide the door ; I am Success." 
Mortal : 

" But I am ill and spent with pain ; too l«te has 

come your wealth. 
I cannot use it." 



■ 91 



DISARMAMENT 



Thi New Y».*« : 

" Listen, friend ; I am Good Health." 

Mortal : 

" Now, wide I fling my dc^r. Come in, and your 
fair statements prove." 

The New Yea» : 

« But you must open, too, your heari, for I am 
Love." 



55; 1 ■ 



1 ( ' 



DISARMAMENT 

WE liave outgrown the helmet and cuirass. 
The spear, the arrow, and the javelin. 
These crude inventions of a cruder age, 
When men killed men to 'now their love of God, 
And he who slaughtered most was greatest king. 
We have outgrown the need of war I 

Should men 
Unite in this one thought, all war would end. 

Disarm the world ; and let nil Nations meet 
Like Men, not monsters, when disputes arise. 
When crossed opinions tangle into snarls, 
Let Courts untie them, and not armies cut. 
When State discuesiont breed dissensions, let 
Union and Arbitration supersede 
The hell-created implements of War. 



THE CALL 193 

Disarm the world I and bid dettructive thought 
Slip like a serpent from the mortal mind 
Down through the marshes of oblivion. Soon 
A race of gods shall rise I Disarm I Disarm ! 



THE CALL 

ALL wantonly in hours of joy, 
I made a song of pain. 
Soon Grief drew near, and paused to hear, 
A d sang the tad refrain. 
Again and yet again. 

Then recklessly in ray despair, 

1 ung of hope one day. 

And Joy turned back upon life's track, 

And smiled, and came my way. 

And sat her down to stay. 



A LITTLE SONG 
/^H, a great world, a fair world, a true world I find 

A sun that never forgets to rise. 

On the darkest night, a star in the skies, 

And a God of love behind it. 



:i 



•94 



A LITTLE SONG 



Oh, a good life, a sweet life, a large life I take it, 
Is what He oBfers to you, and me ; 
A chance to do, and a chance to be. 
Whatever we chose to malie it. 

Oh, a far way, a high way, a sure way He leads us ; 
And il' the journey at times seems long. 
We must trudge ahead, with a trustful song, 
And know at the end He needs us. 



NEW THOUGHT PASTELS 



A DIALOGUE 



T 



HE world is full of sel fiahness ind greed 
Lord, I would lave its sin. 



Yea, mortal, earth of thy good help has need. 
Go cleanse tbyit// v/hiiin. 



Mine ear is hurt by harsh and evil speech. 
I would reform men's ways. 



There is but one convincing way to teach. 
Speak tieu but v ords of praise, 

MORTAL 

On every hand is wretchedness and grief. 
Despondency and fear. 
Lord, I would give my fellow-men reli''" 
"95 



:H«! 



196 



THE WEED 
iritiT 
Be, then, ill hope, ill cheer. 

MORTAL 

Lord, I look outward and grow lick it hcirt, 
Such need ofchinje I set. 

triiiT 
Mortal, look in. Do thy allotted part. 
And leave the rest to Mli. 



THE WEED 

A WEED is but an unloved flower ! 
Go dig, and prune, and guide, and wait, 
Until ii learns its high estate, 
And glorifies some bower. 
A weed is but an unloved flc«er 1 

All sin is virtue unevolved, 

Release the angel from the clod- 
Go love thy brother up to God. 

Behold each problem solved. 
All sin is virtue unevolved. 



jmi. 



STRENGTH 



tf7 



STRENGTH 

WHO it the strong i Not he who puts to lot 
Hii linewi with the itrong and proves the best ; 
But he who dwells where weakling] congregate. 
And never lets his splendid strength abate. 

Who U the good t Not he who walks each day 
With moral men along the high, clean way } 
But he w'.o jostles gilded sin and shame, 
Yet will not tell his honour or hit name. 

Who is the wise I Not he who from the start 
With Wisdom's followers hat taken part ; 
But he who looks in Folly's tempting eyes, 
And turns a'xay, perceiving her disguise. 

Who is serene.' Not he who flees his kind, 
Some mountain fastness, or some cave to find ; 
But he who in the city's nosiest scene, 
Keeps calm within — he only it terene. 



B 



AFFIRM 

ODY and mind, and spirit, all combine 
To make the Creature, human and divine. 



Of this great trinity no part deny. 
AHirm, allirm, the Great Eternal I, 



14 



llffii 




198 



THE CHOSEN 

Affirm the bodr. betuciful and whole, 
The earth-expr.«»ion of immortil toul. 

Affirm the mind, the mcHenger of the hour, 
To i[)eed between thee and the source of power. 

Affirm the ipirit, the Eternal I— 
Of thii great trinity no part deny. 



Lit 



THE CHOSEN 

THEY itood before the Angel at the gate ; 
The Angel a.ked : "Why should you enter in ?" 
One liid : " On earth my place was high and 6"*fJ' 

And one : " I warned my fellow-men from lin ;" 
Another : " I was teacher of the faith j 
I scorned my life and lived in love with death." 

And ane stood silent. " Speak I" the Angel said i 
" What earthly deed has sent you here ti-day » 

•' Alas I I did but follow where they led," 
He answered sadly : " I h»d lost my way- 

So new the country, and so strange my flight j 

I only sought for guidance and for light." 

.. You have no passport f" " None," the answer cm*. 

«I loved the earth, tho' lowly was my lot. 
I strove to keep my record free from blame, 

And make » heaven about my humble ipot 



THE NAMELESS 

A narrow life s I »ec it now, too tjte ; 

So, An|et, drive me from the huvenly giic." 

The Angel swung the portal wide and free. 

And took the forrowini; nringcr by tho h.i .J. 
'• Nay, you alone," he laid. " ihall come with me, 

Of ill thii waiting and insistent band. 
Of what God gave, you built your piradiie j 
Behold your mansion waiting in the ikiei." 

THE NAMELESS 

UNNUMBERED gods m.iy unremcmbered Jie ; 
A thousand creeds may perish and pass by ; 
Vet do I lift mine eyes to ONE on high. 

Unnamed be HE from whom creation came ; 
There is no word whereby to speak His name 
But petty men have mouthed it into ih ime. 

I lift mine eyei, and with a river's force 

My love'i full tide goes sweeping on its course 

To that supreme and all-embracing Source. 

Then back through all those thirsting channels roll 
The mighty billows of the Over Soul. 
And I am He, the portion and the Whole. 

As little itreams before the flood-tide flee, 
As rivers vanish to become the sea. 
The I cxiiti no more, for I AM HE. 



>JJ 



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lUi 



zoo 



THE WORD 



THE WORD 

OH, a word is .1 gem, or a stone, or a song. 
Or a flame, or a two-eJgcd sword : 
Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume. 
Or a drop of gall, is a word. 

You may choose your word lilic a connoisseur. 

And polls*! it up with art. 
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays, 

Is the word that comes from the heart. 

You may work on your word a thousand week., 

But it will • t glow like ons 
That all unsou ,nt, leaps forth white hot. 

When the fountains of feeling run. 

You may hammer away on the anvil of thought, 

And fashion your word with care, 
But unless you are stirred to the depths, th.t uord 

Shall die on the empty air. 

For the word that comes from the brain alone. 

Alone to the brain will speed j 
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays. 

Oh ! that i« the word men heed. 



ASSISTANCE 



ASSISTANCE 

T EAN on no mortal, Love, and serve ; 

•i— ' (For service is love's complement) 

But it was never God's intent, 

Vour spirit from its path should swerve, 

To gain another's point of view. 

\s well might Jupiter, or Mars 

Go seeking help from other stars. 

Instead of sweeping ON, at you. 

Look to the Great Eternal Cause 

And not to any man, for light. 

Look in ; and learn the wrong, and right, 

From your own soul's unwritten Uw». 

And when you question, or demur, 

Let love be your Interpreter. 



rM* 



"CREDULITY" 

IF fallacies come knocking at my door, 
I'd rather feed, and shelter full a score, 
Than hide behind the black portcullis, doubt, 
And run the risk of barring one Truth out. 

And if pretension for a time deceive. 
And prove me one too ready to believe 
Far less my shame, than if by stubborn act 
I brand as lie, some great colossal Fact. 



JO, CONSCIOUSNESS 

On my soul's door, the latch-string hangs outside ; 
Within, the lighted candle. Let me guide 
Some errant follies, on their wandering way, 
Rather, than Wisdom give no wekoming ray. 

CONSCIOUSNESS 

GOD, what a glory, is this consciousness. 
Of life on life, that comes to those who seek! 
Nor would I, if I might, to others speak, 
The fulness of that knowledge. It can bless. 
Only the eager souls, that willing press 
Along the mountain passes to the peak. 
Not to the dull, the doubting or the weak, 
Wm Troth explain, or Mystery confess. 

Not to the curious or impatient soul 
That in the start, demands the end be shown, 
And at each step, stops waiting for a sign ; 
But to the tireless toiler toward the goal. 
Shall the great miracles of God be known 
And life revealed, immortal and divine. 

THE STRUCTURE 

UPON the wreckage of thy yesterday, 
Design the structure of to-morrow. Lay 
Strong corner stone, of purpose, and prepare 
Great block, of wisdom, cut from past despair. 



.1' 



OUR SOULS 



aoj 



Shape mighty pillars of resolve, to set 

Deep in the tear-wet mortar of regret. 

Work on with patience. Though thy toil be slow. 

Yet day by day the edifice shall grow. 

Believe in God — in thine own self believe. 

All that thou hast desired thou shalt achieve. 



o 



OUR SOULS 

UR souls should be vessels receiung 
The waters of love for relieving 
The »orrows of men. 



For here lies the pleasure of living : 
In taking God's bounties, and giving 
The gifts back again. 



THE LAW 

TTTHEN the great universe was wrought 

t" T light and majesty from naugJ', 
The all-creative force was — 

Thught. 

That force is thine. Though desolate 
The way may seem, command thy fate. 
Send forth thy thought — 

Create — Criatt ! 



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104 



KNOWLEDGE 



KNOWLEDGE 

WOULD you believe in Preiences Unseen — 
In life beyond thi« earthy life ? BE STILL : 
Be stiller yet I and listen. Set the screen 

Of silence at the portal of your will. 
Relax, and let the world go by unheard. 
And seal your lips with some all-sacred word. 

Breathe " God," in any tongue — it means the same ; 

LOVE ABSOLUTE : Think, feel, absorb the 
thought ; 
Shutout all else ; until a subtle flame 

(A spark from God's creative centre caught) 
Shall permeate your being, and shall glow, 
Increasing in its splendour, till, YOU KNOW. 

Not in a moment, or an hour, or day 

The knowledge comes ; the power is far too great, 
To win in any desultory way. 

No soul is worthy till it learns to wait 
Day after day be patienr^ then, oh, soul ; 
Month after month— lUl, lo ! the goal ! the goal I 



#1 



GIVE 



GIVE 



««5 



GiVE, and thou shalt receive. Give thoughts of 
cheer, 
Of courage and success, to friend and stranger. 
And from a thousand sources, far and near, 

Strength will be sent thee in thy hour ot danger. 

Give words of comfort, of defence, and hope, 
To mortals crushed by sorrow and by error. 

And though thy feet through shadowy paths may grope, 
1 hou Shalt not walk in loneliness or terror. 

Give of thy gold, though small thy portion be. 

Gold rusts and shrivels in the hand that keeps it. 
It grows in one that opens wide and free. 

Who sows his harvest is the one who reaps it. 

Give of thy love, nor wait to know the worth 
Of what thou lovest ; and ask no returning. 

And wheresoc'er thy pathway leads on earth, 

There thou shalt .-ind the lamp of love-light burning. 

PERFECTION 

'T~*HE leaf that ri^-ens only in the sun 

X Is dull and shrivelled ere its race is run. 
The leaf that makes a carnival of death 
Must tremble first before the north wind's brenh 



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FEAR 



The life that neither grief nor burden knowi 
Is dwarfed in sympathy before its close, 
The iife that grows majestic with the year» 
Must taste the bitter tonic found in tears. 

FEAR 

FEAR is the twin of Faith's sworn foe, Distrurt. 
If one breaks in your heart the other must. 

Fear is the open enemy of Good. 

It means the God in man misunderstood. 

Who walks with Fear adown life's road will meet 
His boon companions, Failure and Defeat. 

But look the bully boldly in the eyes, 

With mien undaunted, and he turns and flies. 



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THE WAY 

BETWEEN the finite and the infinite 
The missing link of Love has left a void. 
Supply the link, and earth with Heaven will join 
In one continued chain of endless life. 

Hell is wherever Love is not, and Heaven 
It love's location. No dogmatic creed, 



UNDERSTOOD 

No austere faith bused on ignoble fear 
Can lead thee into realmiof joy and peace. 
Unless the humblest creatures on the earth 
Are bettered by thy loving sympathy 
Think not to find a Paradise beyond. 

There is no sudden entrance into Heaven. 
Slow is the ascent by the path of Love. 



107 



UNDERSTOOD 

I VALUE more than I despise 
My tendency to sin, 
Because it helps me sympathise 
With all my tempted kin. 

He who has nothing in his soul 
That links him to the sod, 

Knows not that joy of self-control 
Which lif;! him up to God. 

And I am glad ray heart can say, 
When others trip and fall 

(Although I safely passed that way), 
" I understand it all." 



toS 



HIS MANSION 



HIS MANSION 



THERE WI8 a thought he hid from all men'i 
eyes. 
And by hii prudent life and deedi of worth 
He left a goodly record upon earth 
As one both pure and wise. 

But when he reached a dark unsightly door 
Beyond the grave, there stood hii secret thouglit. 
It was the mansion he had built and brought 
To dwell in, on that shore. 



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EFFECT 

AN unkind tale was whispered in his ear. 
He paused to hear. 
His thoughts were food that he'ped a falsehood thrive, 
And keep alive. 

Years dawned and died. One day by venom's tongue 

His name was stung. 
He cried aloud, nor dreamed the lie was spawn 

Of thoughts long gone. 

Each mental wave w- send out from the mind, 

Or base, or kind. 
Completes its circuit, then with added force 

Seeks its own source. 



ii! 



ill! 



THREE THINGS 



to9 



THREE THINGS 

I^NOW this, je restleu denizens of earth, 
IV Know this, ye seekers after joy and mirth, 
Three things there are, eternal in their worth. 

Love that outreaches to the humblest things ; 
Work that is glad, in what it does and brings ; 
And faith that suars upon unwearied wings. 

Divine the Powers that on this trio wait. 
Supreme their conquest, over Time and Kate. 
Love, Work, and Faith-thcse three alone arc great. 



OBSTACLES 

"The slothful man saith. There is a lion in the «ay a 
lion IS in the street."— Proverbs xxvi. 13. 

THERE are no lions in the street ; 
No lions in the way, 
(io seek the goal, thou slothful soul, 
Awake, awake, I say. 

Thou dost but dream of obstacles j 

In God's great lexicon, 
That word illstarred, no page has marroj ; 

Press on, I say, press on. 



110 



PRAYER 

Nothing c«n keep thee from thine own 
But thine own ilothful mind. 

To one who knocks, each door unlocki j 
And he who seeki, ihiU find 



PRAYER 

LEAN on thyself until thy strength i» tried •, 
Then ..k God', help i it will not be denied. 

Uw thine own sight to see the way to go ; 

When darkness fall* ask God the pah to show. 

Think for thyself and reason out thy plan ; 
God has His work and thou hast thine, oh, man. 

Exert thy will and use it for control } 
God give thee jurisdiction of thy soul. 

AH thine immortal powers bring into play ; 
Think, act, strive, reason, then look up and pray. 



CLIMBING 



(II 



CLIMBING 

WHO climbs the mountain docs not alw ay» climb. 
The winding road slants down'vard many a 
time ; 
Yet each descent is higher than the Uit. 
Has thy path fallen ? That will soon be past. 
Beyond the curve the way leads up and on. 
Think not thy goal for ever lost or gone. 
Keep moving forward ; if thine aim is right 
Thou canst not miss the shininj- mountain height. 
Who would attain to summits still and fair, 
Must nerve himsdf through valleys of despair. 



"THERE IS NO DEATH, THERE ARE NO 
DEAD." 

(Suggeited hy th« booV of Mr. Ed. C. Randall.) 

" 'T~*HERE is no death, there are no dead." 
X From zone to zone, from sphere to sph«re, 
The souls of all who pass from here 

By hosts of living thoughts are led ; 

And dark or bright, those souls must tread 
The paths they fashioned year on year. 
For hells are built of hate or fear. 

And heavens of luve our lives have slied. 



tit 



THERE IS NO DEATH 

AcroM un»tl»s«ed worlds of ipicc, 
And through God'i mighty universe, 
With thoughti that bicsi or thought- that curs; 

Etch journeyi to hit rightful place. 
Oh, greater truth no man hath said, 
"There ii no death, there are no dcjd." 

It liftt the mourner from the lod. 

And bids him ctit away the reed 

Of tome uncomforting poor creed. 
And walk with Knowledge for a rod. 
It bidt the doubter seek the broad 

Vast fields, where living facts will feed 

All those whose patience proves their need 
Of these immortal trutht of t. J. 

It brings before the eyet of faith 

Those realms of radiance, lier on tier, 
Where our beloved " dead " appear, 
More beauiiful because of" death." 
It speaks to grief t " Be comforted ; 
There is no death, there are no dead." 



i 


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KEAUSATION 



••I 



REALISATION 

TT ERS w,, , lonely, ih.dowed lot , 

XX Or w the unpcrcciving thought. 
Who looked no deeper than her face. 
Devoid of chiielled linei of grace- 
No farther than her humble grate, 
And wondered hjw the bore her fate. 

Vet ihe wai neither lone nor tad ; 
So much of love her spirit had, 
She found an ever-flovring jpring 
Of happiness in everything. 

So near :«. her ira. Nature-i hewt 

It Itemed a very living part 

Ofher own self, andbudandbl.de 

And heat and cold, and sun and shade 

And dawn and sunset. Spring and Fall! 
"eld raptures for her, one and all. 

The year', four changing seasons brought 
To her own door what thousands .ought 
la wandering ways and did not find— 
Diveiiion and content of mind. 



114 



REALISAtlON 

She loved the tasks that filled each day — 

Such menial duties ; but her way 

Of looking at them lent a grace 

To things the world deemed commonplace. 



Obscure and without place or name. 
She gloried in another's fame. 
Poor, plain and humble in her drcss, 
She thrilled when beauty and success 
And wealth passed by, on pleasure bent ; 
They made earth seem so opulent. 
Yet none of quicker sympathy. 
When need or sorrow came, than she. 
And so she lived, and so she died. 



She woke as from a dream. How wide 
And wonderful the avenue 
Thar stretched to her astonished vieiv I 
And up the green ascending lawn 
A palace :aught the rays of dawn. 
Then suddenly the silence stirred 
With one clear keynote of a bird j 
A thousand answered, till ere long 
The air was quivering bits of song. 
She rose and wandered forth in awe, 
Amazed and moved by all she saw, 



REALISATION 

"or, like so many souls who go 
Ay from earth, she did not Icnow 
I be cord was severed. 



Jl; 



„.. , Down the street, 

^ "h eager arms stretched forth to grce 
Came one she lovcJ and mourned in vo.th. 
""'""''" '^""-■«';"..n the truth ' 

CoU on her. golden wave on w.u.e. 

knowledge infinite. The grave. 
The bod>. and the earthly sphere 
Were gone! Immortal life was here - 

1 hej- led her through the Palace halls ; 
From gleam.ng m.rrors on the walls 

And robed in splendour like a queen 

.l'!';\«.'°:?'/-"J^''out her shone' 
All this. Love murmured "isvour 
And when she gazed with a ^ "' 

A„A ■ ^^'^ ""'" «'ondering eye 

And questioned whence and where and ;,, 

i;;~''^''-= "All Heaven is mai' 
Jy thoughts on earth ; your walls were Ja.d 

V«r after year, of purest gold; ^' 

/'''''"'"y of your mind behold 

^.th.s fair palace; ay, and more 

Waits farther on, so vast your store 
I was not worthy when I died 

To take my place here at your side- 



ii6 



REALISATION 



I toiled through long and weary yean 

From lower planet to these high spheres ; 

And through the love you sent from earth 

1 have attained a second birth. 

Oft when my erring soul would tire 

I felt the strength of your desire ; 

I heard you breathe my name in prayer, 

And courage conquered weak despair. 

Ah ! earth needs heaven, but heaven indeed 

Of earth has just as great a need." 

Across the terrace with a bound 

Ther. sped a lambkin and a hound 

(Dumb comrades of the old earth land) 

And fondled her caressing hand. 

" YOU LOVED THEM INTO PARADISE ' 

Was answered to her questioning eyes ; 

" You taught them love ; love has no end I 

Nor does love's life on form depend. 

If there be mortal without love, 

He wakes to no new life above. 

If love in humbler things exist. 

It must through other realms persist 

Until all love rays merge in HIM. 

Hark I Hear the heavenly Cherubim !" 

Then hushed and awed, with joy so vast 

It knew no future and no past. 

She stood amidst the radiant throng 

That came to swell love'i welcoming song — 



REALISATION 

This humble soul from earth's far coast 
The centre of the heavenly hoit. 

On earth they .ee her grave and jay ; 
"She lies there till the judgment day j" 
Nor dream, so limited their thought,' 
What miracles by love are wrought. 



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POEMS OF EXPERIENCE 



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THE EMPTY BOWL 

T HELD the golden vessel of my joul 

A And prayed that God would fill it from on 

high. 
Day after day the importuning cry 
Grew stronger— grew, a heaven-accusing dole 
Became no sacred waters laved my bowl. 
"So full the fountain, Lord, wouldst Thou deny 
The little needed for a soul's supply } 
I ajk but this small portion of Thy whole." 
Then from the vast invisible Somewhere, 
A voice, as one love-authorised by Him, 
Spake, and the tumult of my heart was Itilled 
"Who wants the waters must the bowl prepare • 
Pour out the self, that chokes it to the brim, ' 
But emptied vessels, from the source are filled." 



I i 



KEEP GOING 

IS the goal distant, and troubled the road, 
And the way long > 
And heavy your load ? 
Then gird up your courage, and siy " I am strong," 
And keep going. 

XII 



ttt KEEP GOING 

Is the work weary, »nd endless the grind 

And petty the pay i 

Then brace up jour mind 
And say " Something better is coming my way," 

And keep doing. 

Is the drink bitter life pours in your cup — 
Is the taste gall ? 
, Then smile and look up 

And say " God is with me whatever beHiU," 
And keep trusting. 

Is the heart heavy with hope long deferred. 
And with prayers that seem vain ? 
Keep saying the word— 

And that which you strive for you yet shall attain. 
Keep praying. 









A PRAYER 

JUST as I shape the purport of my thought, 
Lord of the Universe, shape Thou my lot. 
Let each ill thought that in my heart m.iy be, 
Mould circumstance and bring ill luck to mc. 

Until I weed the garden of my mind 
From all that is unworthy and unkind. 
Am I not master of my mind, dear Lord i 
Then as I tiitit, so must be my reward. 



THE LONDON -COBUY" 



»2.? 



Who sows in weakness, cannot reap in »tren;;tli, 
Thit whicK we plant, we gather in at length! 
Great God of Justice, be Thou just to ine. 
And as my thoughts, so let my future be. 



THE LONDON " BOIiBY " 

A TRIBITE TO THI POUCtMKN OP f.NGLANu's tAPITAt 

HERE in my cosy corner, 
Before a blazing log, 
I'm thinking of cold London 
Wrapped in its killing fog j 
And, like a shining beacon 
Above the picture grim, 
I see the London " Bobby," 
And sing my song for him. 

1 see his stalwart figure, 

I see his kindly face, 

I hear his helpful answer 

At any hour or place. 

For, though you teok some by-way 

Long miles from his own beat, 

He tells you all about it. 

And how to fi,-.d the slrcet. 



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11+ THE LONDON "BOBBY" 

He looki lilte lome bold Viking, 
This king of e«rth': police — 
Yet in hii voice lies r>:eling. 
And in his eye liei peace ; 
He knows and does his duty — 
(What higher praise is there I) 
And London's lords and paupers 
Alike receive his care. 



He has a regal bearing, 
Yet one that breathes repose j 
It is the look and manner 
Cf one who tiinii and iinta'. 
Oh, men who govern nations, 
In old worlds or in new. 
Turn to the London " Bobby ' 
And learn a thing or two. 



READ AT THK BENEFIT OF 
CLARA MOKK15 

(America's great emotional actress) 

THE Radiant Rulers of Mystic Regions 
Where souls of artists are fitted for birth 
Gathered together their lovely legions 
And fashioned a woman to shine on earth. 
They bathed her in splendour. 
They made her tender. 



THE BENEFIT OF CLARA MORRIS 



"i 



They gave her a nature bjth sweet and wild ; 
They gave her emotioni like itorm-itirred oceaiu, 
And they gave her the heart of a little child, 

Theie Radiant Ruleri (who are not human 
Nor yet divine like the gods above) 
Poured all their gifti in the soul of woman, 
That fragile vessel meant only for love. 

Still more they taught her, 

Still more they brought her. 
Till they gave her the world for a harp one day : 

And they bade her string it, 

They bade her ring it. 
While the start all wondered to hear her play. 

She touched the strings in a mailer fashion, 
She uttered the cry of a world's despair : 
Its long hid secret, its pent-up passion, 
She gave to the winds in a vibrant air. 
For oh ! the heart of her, 
That was the art of her. 
Great with the feeling that makes men kin. 
Art unapproachable. 
Art all uncoachable, 
Fragrance and flame from the spirit within. 

The earth turns ever an ear unheeding 
To the sorrows of art, as it cries " encore." 



ai6 THE BENEFIT OK CLARA MORRIS 

And slic played on the litrp till her hand* were 

blccJing, 
And her brow was lirulbtd by the laurnli >\ie wore. 

She knew ihc trend uf it, 

She knew the end of it — 
Men heard the music and men felt the thriU. 

Round to the altar 

Of art, could she falter t 
Then came a silence — the music was itill. 



And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it t 
In waves unbroken it circles the earth : 
And we catch in the light ol her daunt'ess spiiit 
A gleam from the centre that gave her birth. 

Still is the fame of her 

Kelt in the name of her — • 
But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her strain i 

No hand has taken it. 

No hand can waken it— 
For the soul of her art was her secret of pain. 



TWO GHOSTS 

TWO dead men boarded a spectral ship 
In the astral Port of Space ; 
On that ghost-filled barque, they met in the durk, 
And halted, face to face. 



I. ?i 



TWO GHOSTS ,,7 

" Now whither .w,y r_«llcd one ot the gho.i,. 

"Thu jhip leti Mil for E«rih. 
On the aitral plane you must remain. 

Where the newly dead have birth." 

'• But I couIJ not jtay and I would not stav," 

The other ghoit replied ; 
'• I must hurry Kick to the old Earih tra k 

And stand at my loved one'a aide. 

• She weeps for m ,• in her lonely room. 

In the land from whance I came ; 
Oh ! stow me away in this ship, I pray, 
For I hear her call mv na ue." 

" '^0" ■">"' "Mt go, and you shall not go," 

The first ghost cried in wrath. 
" Vour work is planned, in the astral land. 

And a guide will show you the path. " 

" Bat the one I love •'— " I loved her too," 

The first ghost stood and cried ; 
" And year on year I waited here, 

Vea, waited till you died. 

•• For I would not come between you two, 

Nor shadow her joy with fear, 
But mine is the right, I claim this night 

To visit the earthly sj-here. 



i 




128 TWO GHOSTS 

" Tor you are dead, and I am dead, 

And you had her long — so long. 
And to look on the grace of her worshipped face. 

Ah ! now it can do no wrong. 

" I am fettered to Earth by love of her, 

And hers is the spell divine. 
That can help me rise, to the realm that Ilea 

Just over the astral line. 

" I have kept to the lav/a of God and man, 
I have suffered and made no moan ; 

Now my little share of joy, I swear 
I will have — and have it alone." 

A skeleton crew the anchor drew. 

And the ship from the port swung free ; 

With a muffled clang the ghost bell rang. 
And the boat sailed out to sea. 



h 



I i 
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And one ghost stood on the deck and laughed. 

As only a glad ghost can ; 
While a swooning soul was dragged to his goal, 

To work out the astral span. 

And a woman wept, and prayed ere she slept, 

For a dream to ease her pain ; 
But she dreamed instead of a man long dead. 

Who had loved her all in vain. 



WOMAN 

WOMAN 

gTRANGEar. the wa„ that her fe„ have trod 

Finished and fair by the hand of God 

To carry her message of love and beauty. 
Del.cate creature oflight and shade 

And'earlhTl 'f " °'^''' °" "■'■'^= ^^^''^^ ""^er: 
A>d earth looked up to her half afraid, 

Wh.le heaven looked do.,vn at her, full of ,,„,j„ 

Flame of the comet and mist of the moon 
^nd ray ofthe sun all mingled in her. 
And the heart of her asked but a single boon- 

That love should seek her, and find her, and win her 
She grasped the scope of the First Intent 

Tha. made her kingdom >r /.., „o other. 
And joyfully mto her place she went— 
The primal mate, and the primal mother. 

Large was that kingdom and vast her sphere 

And l.ghtly she lifted and bore each burden 
Lightly she laughed in the eyes of fcnr 
For love wa, her recompense, love her guerdon 

And never ,„ camp, or in cave, or in home. 
Rose vo,ce of mother or mate compl..i„i„g. 

And never the foot ofher sought to roam, ' 

T.1I love .n the heart ofthe man seemed waning. 

16 



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130 



WOMAN 



In the broad rich furrows by woman turned 

Man, unwitting, set plough and harrow. 
For worlds to conquer she had not yearned. 

Till he spoke of her frminine sphere as "narrow." 
The lullaby changed to a martial strain — 

When he took her travail, and song for granted- ■ 
And forth she forged in his own domain — 

Till the strange " new woman " the old supplanted. 



" Strange" with the glow of a wakened soul, 

And " new " with the purpose of large endeavour. 
She turned her face to the higher goal— 

To the higher goal it is turned for ever. 
Trade and science and craft and art, 

Have opened their doors to the call of woman ; 
And greater she grows in her greater part. 

More tenderly wise, and more sweetly human. 



Brave for«nothers of freedom's birth 

Smile through space on your splendid daughters. 
At one with liberty lighting the earth, 

Their torches flame o'er the darkest waters. 
They lend a lustre to sea and land : 

They sweeten the world with their wholesome graces : 
As out in the harbour of life they stand 

To cheer and welcome the coming races. 



■5 



WOMAN 

Brave forefathers and heroes who fought 

Under the flag of tlie Revolution, 
War was the price of the freedom you bought, 

But peace is the watchword of Evolution. 
The progress of woman means progress of peace. 

She wars on war, and its hosts alarming ; 
And he:- great love battle will never cease, 

Till the glory is seen of a world disarming. 

The woman wonder «ith l.c.irt of flame. 

The coming man of the race will find' her. 
Kor petty purpose and narrow aim. 

And fault and flaw she will leave behind her. 
He grown tender, and she grown wise, 

They shall enter the Eden by both created ; 
The broadened kingdom of I'.tradisc, 

And love, and mate, as the first plir mated. 



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BATTLE HYMN OF THE WOMEN 

'T^HEy are waking, they are waking, 

-■■ In the east, and in the west ; 
They are throwing wide their windows to the sun • 
And they see the dawn is breaking, ' 

And they quiver with unrest. 
For they know their work is waiting to be done. 



iji BATTLE HYMN OF THE WOMEN 

They are waking in the city, 

They are waking on the farm ; 
They are waking in the boudoir, and the mill; 
And their hearts are full of pity 

As they sound the loud alarm, 
Fr -he sleepers, who in darkness, slumber, still. 

In the guarded harem prison, 

Where they smother under veils. 
And all echoes of the world are walled away ; 
Though the sun has not yet risen, 

Yet the ancient darkness pales. 
And the sleepers, in their slumber, dream of day. 



And their dream shall grow in splendour 
Till each sleeper wakes, and stirs ; 

Till she breaks from old traditions, and it free ; 

And the world shall rise, and render 
Unto woman what is hers, 

As it welcomes in the race that is to be. 



Unto woman, God the Maker 

Gave the secret of His plan ; 
It is written out in cipher, on her soul ; 
From the darkness, you must take her, 

To the light of day, O man ! 
Would you know the mighty meaning of the si roll. 



MEMORIES 



233 



I 



MEMORIES* 

T AM thinking of the Springtime 

■■• On the farm out in the West, 

When my „„,, ^,, „^,,.^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^ 

(Save a courage all undaunted), 

And my foolish little rhym-s 

Were but heart beats, rung in chimes. 

That I sounded, just to ease my life's unrest. 

Ves, I sang them, and I rang them. 

Just to ease my youth's unrest. 

When I heard the name of London, 
Jn that early day, afar, 

In that Springtime of my Country over yonder. 
Then I used to sit and wonder 
If the day would come to me. 
When my ship should cross the sea 

To the land that seemed as distant'asa, tar 
m my dreaming, ever gleaming 

Like a distant unknown star. 

Now in London in the Springtime, 
I am sitting here, your guest. 



«3+ 



MEMORIES 



Nay — I think it is a vision, or a fiucj— 

Part of dreamland Necromancy ; 

And I question : is it true 

That the great warm hearts of you, 

Heard the winging of that singing in the West, 

Heird the chiming of my rhyming 

From the farmhouse in the West } 

Let me linger in the fancy, 

For the sou! of me is stirred 

As I dream that I am sitting here among you ; 

And the songs that I have sung you 

Shall grow stronger through the art 

Of heart speaking unto heart, 

Through the gladness of the singer who is heard 

Lo ! my songs have croi^ed the ocean. 

But the voice of my emotion finds no word. 

SEE? 

IF one proves weak who you fancied strong, 
Or false who you fancied true, 
Just ease the smart of your wounded heart 
By the thought that it is not you ! 

If many forget a promise made, 
And your faith falls into the dust, 

Then look meanwhile in your mirror and smile, 
And say, " / am one to trust 1" 



SEE? 

If you tearch in vain for an ageing face 
Unharrowed by fretful fears, 

Then make right now (and keep) a vow 
To grow in grace with the yean. 

If you lose your faith in the word of man 
As you go from the port of youth, 

Just say as you sail, " 1 will not fail 
To keep to the course of truth 1" 

For this is the way, and the only wjv— 

At least so it seems to me. 
It is up to ycu, to be, and Jo, 

What you kekfor in ttbtrs. Set T 



»35 



THE PURPOSE 

OVER and over the task was set, 
Over and over I slighted the work, 
But ever and alway I knew that yet 
I must face and finish the toil I shirk. 



Over and over the whip of pain 

Has spurred and punished with blow on b!ow ; 
As ever and alway I tried in vain 

To shun the labour I hated so. 



»36 THE WHITE MAN 

Over and over I came this way 

For just one purpose : O stubborn soul 

Turn with a will to your work to-day, 
And learn the lesson ol Silf-CintrtL 



w 



ESUiSlf !-. 



THE WHITE MAN 

HEREV'ER the white man's feet have trod 
(Oh far does the white man stray) 
A bold road rifles the virginal sod, 
And tJie forest wakes out of its dream of God, 

To yield him the riglit of way. 
For this is the law : By tl:i patuer of thu^ht, 
for worse, or for better, are miraclei tiirought 

Wherever the white man's pathway leads, 

(Far, far has that pathway gone) 
The Earth is littered with broken creeds — 
And alway the dark man's tent recedes, 

And the white man pushes on. 
For this is the law : Be it good or ill, 
All things must -jield to the stronger Kill, 

Wherever the white man's light is shed, 

(Oh far has that light been thrown) 
Though Nature has suffered and beauty bled, 
Yet the goal of the race has been thrust ahcat*,. 
And the might of the race has grown. 



P 
1 1? 

1 10 



A MOORISH MAID 

For chia ii the law : Be il cruel tr thJ, 
The Vnivent iviup to thpcuer of mind. 



»37 



A MOORISH MAID 

A BOVE her veil a shrouded Moorish niiij 
.**■ Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake ; 
A brow untouched by care j a band of jetty hair, 

And nothing more. Tlie all-concealing haiic 
Fell to her high arched instep. At her side 

An old duenna walked ; her withered face 

Half covered only, since no lingering grace 
Bespoke the beauty once her master's pride. 

Above her veil, the Moorish maid beheld 
The modern world, in Paris-decked Algiers ; 

Saw happy lad and lass, in love's contentment pass, 
Or in sweet wholesome friendship, free from fears. 

She saw fair matrons, walking arm-in-arm 

With life-long lovers, time-endeared, and then 
She saw the ardent look in eyes of men, 

And thrilled and trembled with a vague alarm. 

Above her veil she saw the stuccoed court 
That led to dim secluded rooms within. 

She followed, dutiful, the dame unbeautiful. 

Who told her that the Christian world mean. .in. 



138 



LINCOLN 



Some day, full soon, «he would go forth a bride— 
Of one whose fa>. ihe never had beheld. 
Something within her, wakened, and rebelled j 

She flung ailde her veil, and cried, and cried. 



m i- 



1' '; 



LINCOLN 

WHEN God created this good world 
A few stupendous peaks were hurled 
From His strong hand, and they remain 
The wonder of the level pbin. 
But these colossal heights arc rare. 
While shifting sands are everywhere. 

So VN ith the race. The centuries pass 

And nations fall like leaves o'' --rass. 

Tlicy die, forgotten and un' i ; 

While straight from God s -e souls are flung, 

To live immortal and sublime. 

So lives great Lincoln for all time. 

I KNOW NOT 

DEATH ! I know not what room you are abiding in, 
But I will go my way, 
Rejoicing day by day. 
Nor will I flee or stay 
For fear 1 tread the path you may be hiding in. 



I KNOW NOT 



«39 



Deith 1 I know not, if my tmall barque be nearing j ou ; 
But if you are at tea, 
Still there my sails float free | 
" What ii to be will be." 

Nor will I mar the happy vojjge by tearing you. 

Death ! I know not, what hour or spot you wiit tor me j 

My days untroubled flow, 

Just trusting on, I go. 

For oh, I know, I know, 
Death ii but Life that holds some gla.l new fate for n.e. 



INTERLUDE 

THK days grow shorter, the nights grow longer ; 
The headstones thicken along the way, 
And life grows sadder, but love grows stronger. 
For those who walk with us day by day. 

The tear comes quicker, the laugh comes slower ; 

The courage is lesser to do and dare ; 
And the tide of joy in the heart falls lower, 

And seldom covers the reefs of care. 

Bat all true things in the world seem truer ; 

And the better things of earth seem best. 
And friends are dearer, as friends are fewer, 

And love is «// as our sun dips west. 



140 



RESURRECTION 



Then let ui ctisp hands ai we walk together, 
And let us speak softly in lore's sweet tone ; 

For no man knows n the morrow whether 
We two pass on — or bat one alone. 



RESURRECTION 

PAUSING a moment ere the day was done. 
While yet the earth was scintillini with light, 
I backward glanced. From valley, plain, and height, 
At intervals, where my life-path had run. 
Rose cross on cross ; and nailed upon each one 
Was my dead self. And yet that gruesome sight 
Lent sudden splendour to the falling night. 
Showing the conquests that my soul had won. 



:■;!' 



Up to the rising stars 1 looked and cried, 

" There is no death ! for year on year, re-born 

I wake to larger life : to joy more great, 

So many times have I been crucified, 

So often seen the resurrection morn, 

I go uiumphant, though new Calvaries wait." 



.'HE VOICES OF THE CIIV 



»♦• 



THE VOICES OF THE CITY 

THE voices of the city — merged »nd swelled 
Into a mighty dis!ona;icc ot" sound. 
And from the medley rose these broken strain! 
In changing time and ever-changing lieyi. 



Pleasure seekers, silken dad. 

Led by cherub Day, 
Ours the duty to be glad, 

Ouri the toil of play. 

Sleep has bound the commonplace < 

Pleasure rules the dawn. 
Small hours set the merry pjce 

And we follow on. 

We mutt UM the joys of earth, 

All its cares we'll keep j 
Night was made for youth and mirth, 

Day was m.-idc for sleep. 

Time has cut his beard, and lo I 

He is but a boy, 
Singing, on with him we go. 

Ah ! but life is joy. 



i , ! 



HI 



THE VOICES OF THE CITY 



\-l 



We »re the vendors of beauty, 

We the purveyors for hell ; 
The carnal bliss of a purchased kiss 

And the pleasures that blight, we sell. 
God pity us ; God pity the world. 



5*1 



We are the sad race-victims 

Of the misused force in man, 
Of the great white flame burned bl«c!i with shame 

And lost to the primal plan. 
God pity us ; God pity the world. 



iiil 




We are the Purpose of Being 

Gone wrong in the thought of the world. 
The torch for its hand made a danger brand 

And iato the darlcness hurled. 
God pity us i God pity the world. 



We are the toilers in the realm of night 
(Long, long the hours of night), 
We are the human lever, wheel, and bolt. 
That keeps the civic vehicle from jolt, 
And jar upon the shining track of day 
(The unremerabered day). 



THE VOICES OF THE CITY 143 

We sleep away the sunlit hours of life 
(Unsatisfied, sad life), 
Wc wake in shadow and we rise in gloom. 
False as a wanton's artilicial bloom 
Is that made light we labour in till dawn 
(The lonely, laggard dawn). 

Like visions half remembered in a dream 
(A strange and broken dream) 
Our children's faces, seen but while they sleep, 
Within our hearts these weary hours we keep. 
We are the toilers in the realm of night 
(Long, long the hours of night). 



Wc are hope and faith and sorrow, 
We are peace and pain and passion. 
We are ardent lovers kissing. 
We are happy mothers crooning, 
We are rosy children dreaming. 
We ire honest labour sleeping. 
We are wholesome pleasure laughing. 
We are wakeful riches feasting, 
We are lifted spirits praying, 
We the voices of the city. 

Out of the medley rose these broken strains, 
In changing time and ever-changing keys. 




iff IF CHRIST CAME QUESTIONING 

IF CHRIST CAME QUESTIONING 

IF Christ came questioning His world to-day, 
(If Christ came questioning,) 
"What hast thou done to glorify thy God, 
Since last My feet this lower earth plane trod ?" 
How could I answer Him; and in what way 
One evidence of my allegiance bring j 
iU Christ came questioning ? 

If Christ came questioning, to me alone, 

(If Christ came questioning,) 

I could not point to any church or shrine 

And say, " I helped build up this house of Thine ; 

Behold the altar, and the corner stone " ; 

I could not show one proof of such a thing ; 

If Christ came questioning. 

If Christ came questioning, on His demand, 
(If Christ came questioning,) 
No pagan soul converted to His creed 
Could I proclaim ; or say, that word or deed 
Of mine, had spread the faith in any land; 
Or sent it forth, to fly on stronger wing ; 
If Christ came questioning. 

If Christ came questioning the soul of me, 

(If Christ came questioning,) 

I could but answer, " Lord, my little part 



IF CHRIST CAME QUESTIONING 
H45 been to beat the metal of my heart, 
Into the shape I thought most fit for Thee ; 
And at Thy feet, to cast the offering ; 
Shouldst Thou come questioning. 

"From out the earth-fed furnaces of desire, 
(Ere Thou cam'st questioning,) 
This formless and unfinished gift I brought. 
And on life's anvil flung it down, white hot : 
A glowing thing, of selfishness and fire 
With blow on blow, I made the anvil ring , 
(Ere Thou cam'st questioning). 

"The hammer, Self-Control, beat hard on it ; 

(Ere Thou cam'st questioning,) 

And with each blow, rose fiery sparks of psin ; 

I bear their scars, on body, soi.l, and brain. 

Long, long I toiled ; and yet, dear Lord, unfit, 

And all unworthy, is the heart I bring, 

To meet Thy questioning." 



M5 



ENGLAND, AWAKE ! 

A BEAUTIFUL great lady, past her prime, 
■i *■ Behold her dreaming in her easy chair • 
Grey robed, and veiled, in laces old and rare- ' 
Her smiling eyes see but the vanished timt 



1^6 



ENGLAND. AWAKE I 



Of splendid prowess, and of deeds sublime. 
Self satisfied she sits, all unaware 
That peace has flown before encroaching care. 

And through her halls stalks hunger, linked with crime. 

England, awake I from dreams of what has been, 
Look on what L, and put the past away. 

Speak to your sons, until they understand. 

El. f land, awake ! for dreaming now is sin j 
In all your ancient wisdom, rise to-d<iy, 

And save the glory of your menaced land. 



; i I,;. 



BE NOT ATTACHED 

"TJE not attached." So runs the great command 
X5 For those who seek to " know " and " under- 
stand." 
Who sounds the waters of the deeper sea 
Must first draw up his anchor and go free. 

But not for me, that knowledge. I must wait 

Until again I enter through life's gate. 

I am not brave enough to sail away 

To farther seas, and leave this beauteous bay. 

Love barnacled, my anchor lies j and oh I 
I would not lift it if I could, and go 
All unattached, to find those truths which lie 
Far out at sea, beneath a lonely sky. 



AN EPISODE 147 

Though peace of heart, and happinew of soul, 
Await the seeker at that farther goal, 
With love and all its rapture and its pain, 
Close to the shores of earth I must remaii. 

Nor yet would I relinquish my aweet dream 
To gain possession of the Fact supreme. 
I am attached, and well content to stay, 
Learning such truths as love may send my way. 



AN EPISODE 

ALONG the narrow Moorish street 
A blue-eyed soldier strode. 
(Ah, well-a-day) 
Veiled from her lashes to her feet 
She stepped from her abode, 
(Ah, lack-a-day). 



Now love may gu.ird a favoured wife 
Who leaves the harem door j 
(Ah, well-a-day) 
But hungry hearted is her life 
When she is one of four. 
(Ah, lack-a-day.) 



m I 



»48 THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS 

If black eyes glow with sudden fire 
And meet warm eyes oi blue — 
(Ah, well-a-day). 
The old, old story of desire 
Repeats itself anew. 
(Ah, laclc-a-day.) 

When bugles blow the soldier flief— • 
Though bitter tears may fall 
' (Ah, laclc-a-day). 

./f {Motrist child with blui, blui fjti 
Flap in the harem hall. 
(Ah, well-a-day.) 



THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS 

I AM the voice of the voiceless ; 
Through me the dumb shall speak ; 
Till the deaf world's ear be made to hear 

The cry of the wordless weak. 
From street, from cage, and from kennel, 

From jungle and stall, the wail 

Of my tortured kin proclaims the sin 

Of the mighty against the frail, 

I am a ray from the centre ; 

And I will feed God's spark. 
Till a great light glows in the night and shows 

The dark deeds done in the dar . 



M 



THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS 149 

And full on the thoughtlen deeper 

Shall flash iti glaring flame, 
Till he wakens to see what crimes may be 

Cloaked under an honoured namei 



The same Force formed the sparrow 

That fashioned man, the king ; 
The God of the Whole gave a spark of sou! 

To furred and to feathered thing. 
And I am my brother's keeper, 

And I will fight his fight, 
And speak the word for beast and bird, 

Till the world shall set things right. 

Let no voice cavil at Science — 

The strong torch-bearer of God; 
For brave are his deeds, though dying creeds, 

Must fall where his feet have trod. 
But he who would trample kindness 

And mercy into the dust — 
He has missed the trail, and his quest will fail 

He is not the guide to trust. 



For love is the true religion, 

And love ii the law sublime ; 
And all that is wrought, where love is not, 

Will die at the touch of time. 



1 



II 



ISO 



THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS 

And Science, the great reveller, 

Muit flame hii torch it the Source ; 

And keep it bright with that holy light. 
Or hi« feet ihiU fail on the coar»e. 



I 



Oh, nerer a brut; in the fore»t. 

And never a make in the fen, 
Or ravening bird, starvation itiried, 
, Has hunted its prey like men. 
For hunger, and fear, and passion 

Alone drive beasts to slav. 
But wonderful man, the crown of the plan, 

Tortures, and kills, for play. 

He goes well fed from his table ; 

He kisses his child and wife j 
Then he haunts a wood, till he orphans a brooJ, 

Or robs a deer of its life. 
He aims at a speck in the azure j 

Winged love, that has flown at a call ; 
It reels down to die, and he lets it lie ; 

Hit pleasure was seeing it fall. 



sppr 



And one there was, weary of laurc 

Of burdens and troubles of State j 
4othe jungle he sought, with the beautiful thought 

Of shooting a «he lion'i mate. 



THE VOICE OF THE VOICELESS 151 

And one came down from the pulpit, 

In the pride of a duty done, 
And his cloth sufficed, as his emblem of Christ, 

While murder smoked out of hit gun. 

One strays from the haunts of fashion 

With an indolent, unused brain ; 
But his sluggish heart feels a sudden start 

In the purpose of giving pain. 
And the fluttering flock of pigeons, 

As they rise on eager wings. 
From prison to death, bring a catch in his breath : 

Ok, thi rapture »f killing thing! ! 

Now, this is the race as we find it. 

Where love, in the creed, spells hate ; 
And where bird and beast meet a foe in the priest 

And in rulers of fashion and State. 
But up to the Kingdom of Thinkers 

Has risen the cry of our kin ; 
And the weapons of thought are burnished and 
brought 

To clash with the bludgeons of sin, 



Far Christ, of a million churches. 
Come near to the earth again ; 

Be more than a name ; be a living Flame ; 
" Make Good " in the hearts of men. 



*{* TIME'S DEFEAT 

Shine full on the path oF Science, 
And show it the heights above, 

Where vast truths lie for the searching eye 
That shall follow the torch of love. 



■i: 



TIME'S DEFEAT 

TIME has made conquest of so many things 
That once were mine. Swift-footed, eager 
youth 
That ran to meet the years ; bold brigind Ijealth, 
That broke all laws of reason unafraid, 
And laughed at talk of punishment. 

Close ties of blood and friendship, joy of life, 
Which reads its music in the major key 
And will not listen to a minor strain — 
These things and m.iny more are spoils of time. 



Yet as a conqueror who only storms 
The outposts of a town, and finds the fort 
Too strong to be assailed, so time retreats 
And knows his impotence. He cannot take 
My three great jewels from the crown of life 
Love, sympathy, and faith ; and year on year 
He sees them grow in lustre and in worth. 
And glowers by me, plucking at his beard, 
And dragging, as he goes, ■ useless scythe. 



THE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 153 

Once in the dark he plotted with his friend 

Grim Dcith, to »teal my trcaiiirei. Death replied : 

"They are immortal, and beyond thy reach, 

I could but ict them in another iphere, 

To thine with greater lustre." 



Time and Death 
Passed on together, knowing their defeat j 
And I am singing by the road of life. 



THE HV.MN OF THE REPUBLIC 

I HAVE liitened to the sighing of the burdened and 
the bound, 
I have heard it c' ange to crying, with a menace in the 

sound ; 
I have seen the money-getters pass unheeding on the 

way, 
As they went to forge new fetters for the people day by 
day. 



Then the voice of Labour thundered icirth its punose 

and its need, 
And I marvelled, and I wondered, at the cold dull ear 

of greed ; 



15+ THE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

Fur 11 chimci, in lome great iteeple, tell the piising of 

the hour, 
So the voices of the people tell the death of purchaied 

power. 

All the gathered dust of agei, God i> brushing from Hit 

book ; 
He il opening up iti pages, and He bids His children 

look ; 
And in shock and conflagration, and in pestilence and 

strife. 
He is speaking to the nations, of the brevity of life. 



Mother Earth herself i> shaken by our sorrows and our 

crimes ; 
And she bids her sons awaken to the portent of the 

times ; 
With her travail pains upon her, she is hurling from 

their place 
All the minions of dishonour, to admit the Comiiig 

Race. 



Br the voice of Justice bidden, she has torn the mask 

from might ; 
All the shameful secrets hidden, she is dragging into 

light i 



THE HYMN OF 1 .'E REPUBl IC 15; 

And whoever wrongs his neijhhour must be broujjhi jc 

juilgmcnt »»?;•, 
Though he wear li : badge of Labour, or a crown ufun 

*ii brow. 



There it growth in Revolution, if the word it under- 

•tood; 
It it one with Evjii.l m, up ft ;m self, to brotherhood : 
He who utters It i:.iI)oedi,ig, bent on self, or selfish 

gain, 
Hi» own day of doom is sicc.liiig, iliouyh he toil, or 

though he reign. 



God u calling to the misics, to ihe peasant, „ vl ,';,. 

peer; 
He it calling to ill claiiei, that the cruci.i' * lu.i i-. 

near ; 
For each rotting throne must rcir.ble, and fall brolt!. 

in the dust. 
With the leaden who dissemble, and betray a people's 

trust. 



Still the voice of God is calling ; and above the wreck 

I see, 
And beyond the gloom appalling, the great Government- 

to-Be. 



"r !■ 
,,ij 



: ! 1 



^'ii 



I'W 



i;6 THE RADIANT CHRIST 

From the ruin» ir has risen, and my soul is overjoyed, 
For the school supplants the prison, and there are no 
" unemployed." 

And there are no children's faces at the spinlle or the 

loom ; 
They are out in sunny places, where the other sweet 

things bloom ; 
God has purified the alleys, He has set the white slaves 

free, 
And they own the hills and valleys in this Guvernment- 

to-Be. 



THE RADT\NT CHRIST 






* t 



ARISE, O master artist of the age, 
And paint the picture which at once shiill be 
Immortal art and bless'd prophecy. 
The bruisid vision of the world assuage ; 
To earth's dark book add one illumined page. 
So scintillant with truth, that all who see 
Shall break from superstition ar2d stand free. 
Now let this wondrous work thy hand engage. 
The mortal sorrow of the Nazarcne, 
Too long has been faith's symbol and its sign ; 
Too long a dying Saviour has sufficed. 
Give us the glowing emblem which shall mean 



;l 



THE RADIANT CHRIST 157 

Mankind awakened to the Self Divine ; 
The living emblem of the Radiant Christ. 



II 

Too long the crucifix on Calvarj'i height 
Has cast its shadow on the human heart. 
Let now Religion's great co-wor!<cr Art, 
Limn on the background of departing nii^lit, 
The shining Face all palpitant with light. 
And God's true message to the world impart. 
Go tell each toiler in the home and mart, 
" Lo, Christ is with ye, if ye seek aright." 
The world forgets the vital word Christ taught j 
The only word the world has need to know : 
The answer to creation's problem — Love. 
TSe world rcmembcrj what the Christ forgot 5 
His cross of anguish and His death of woe ; 
Release the m.irtyr, and the Cross remove ! 



For now " the former tl.ingj have passeJ away," 
And man, forgetting that which lies behind, 
And ever prcsiing forward, seeks to find 
The prize of his high calling. Send a ray 
Fron; art's bright sun to fortify the day. 
And blaze the tiail to every mortal mind 
The new religion lies in being kind j 



258 



AT BAY 



Faith stands and works, where once it knelt to pray ; 
Faiih counts its gain, where ■ nee it reckoned loss j 
Ascending paths its patient feet have trod ; 
Man looks within, and finds salva'.ion there. 
Release the suffering Saviour from the Cross, 
And give the waiting world its Radiant God. 



AT BAY 




REACH out your arms, and hold me close luJ 
fast. 
Tell me there are no memories lA your past 
That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast. 

HUSBAND 

Some truihs a c cheapened when to« oft averred. 
Does not the deed speak louder than tie word t 
(Dear God, that old dream woke again and >tirrcd ) 



m 



As you love me, you never loved before ? 
Though oft you say it, say it yet once mi>re. 
My heart is jealous of those days of yore. 

HtSBAND 

Sweet wife, dear comrade, mother of my chikl. 
My life is yours by memory undefiled. 
(It siirs again, that passion brief and wild.) 



'Hi 



AT BAY 



*S9 



You never knew a happier hour than this I 
We two alone, our hearts surcharged with blis«. 
Nor other kisses, sweet as my own kits I 



I was a thirsty field, long parched with drouth ; 
Yuu were the warm rain, blowing from the south. 
(But, ah, the crimson madness of ier mouth !) 

WIFE 

You w-^ulj not, if you could, go down life's track 
For just one little moment and bring back 
Some vanished rapture that you mils or lack ? 

Hl'iBAND 

1 am content. You are my life, my all. 
(One burning hour, but one, could I recall ; 
God, how men lie when driven to the wall !) 



THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 

WITH brooding mien and sultry eyes, 
Outside the fates of Paradise 
Eve sat, and fed the faggot flame 
That lit the path *hence Adam came. 
(Strange are the workings of a woman's mind.) 




26o THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 

His giant shade preceded him, 
Aloiig the pathway green, and dim ; 
She heard his swift approaching tread, 
But still slie sat with drooping head. 
(Dark arc the jungles of unhappy thought.) 

He kissed her mouth, and gazed witliin 
Her troubled eyes ; for since their sin, 
His love had grown a thousandfold. 
But Eve drew back ; her face wa; col J. 
(Oh, who can read the cipher of a soul.) 

" Now art thou mourning still, sweet wife ?" 

Spake Adam tenderly, " the life 

Of our lost Eden ? Why, in M« 

All Paradise rcui.iins for me." 

(Deep, deep the currents in a strong man's heart.) 

Thus Eve ; " Nay, not lost Eden's bliai 

I mourn ; for heavier woe than this 

Wears on me with one thought accur.cd. 

y» Adam's life 1 am not fir it. 

(O woman's mind ! what hells arc fasLi^iiLvl there.) 

" TIk serpent whispered Lilith's name ; 

( Twas • lus he drove nic to my shame) 

Pluck yonder fruit, he said, and know, 

How Ad«m loved ker, long ago. 

(f jol», fools, who vvandcr searching aHcr pain.) 






THE BIRTH OF JEALOUSY 261 

" I ate ; and like an ancient Kroll, 
I saw that other life unroll ; 
I saw thee, Adam, far from here 
With Lilith on a wondrous sphere, 
(liold, bold, the daring of a iealous heart.) 

" Nay, tell me not I dreamed it all ; 
r.ast night in sleep thou didst let i'.ill 
Her name iji tenderness ; I bowed 
My stricken head and cried aloud. 
(\'ast, vast the torment of a self-made woe.) 

"And i' was then, and not before. 
That Eden shut and barred its door. 
Alone in God's great world I seemed, 
VVhi'st thou of thy lost Ulith dreamed. 
(Oh, who can measure si;>;h wide loneliness.) 



" Now every little breeze that sin"s 
Sighs Lilith, like thy whisperings. 
Oh, where can sorrow hide its fic-. 
When Lilhh, Lilith, fills all space ^■• 
(And Ad,im in the darkness rpake no word.) 



i 



1 1 



x6i SUMMER'S FAREWELL 



SUMMER'S FAREWELL 

ALL in the time when Earth dirf most deplore 
The cold ungracious aspect of young May, 
Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more ; 
She wove bright garlands, and in winsome play 
She bound him willing captive. Day by day 
She found new wiles wherewith his heart to please ; 

Or bright the sun, or if the skies were grey, 
They laughed together, under spreading trees. 
By running brooks, or on the sandy shore, of sens. 

They were but comrades. To that radiant maid 

No serious word he spake ; no lovers' pkJ. 
Like careless children, glad and unafraid, 

They sported in their opulence of glee. 

Her shining tresses floated wild and free ; 
In simple lines her emerald garments hung ; 

She was both good to hear, and fair to see . 
And when she laughed, then Earth laughed too, and fluug 
His cares behind him, and grew radiant and young. 

One golden day, as he reclined benesth 
The arching azure of enchanting skies 

Fair Summer came, engirdled with a wreath 
Of gorgeous leaves all scintilUnt with dyes. 
Effulgent wa» she ; yet within I.er eyes. 



THE GOAL 



Z63 



There hung 1 quivering mist of tears unshed. 

Her crimson-mantled bosom shook with sighs ; 
Above him bent the glory of her head ; 
And on his mouth she pressed a splendid ki)i, and flcJ. 



THE GOAL 

A LI, roads th.u Icii to Gii are good ; 
What matters if, yo'ir faith, or mine! 
Both centre at the goal divine 
Of love's eternal Brotherhood. 

The Icindly life in house »r street ; 

The life of pra) cr and mystic rite ; 

The student's search for truth and li?ht — 
These paths at one great junction meet. 

Before the oldest book was writ. 
Full many a prehistoric soul 
Arrived at this unchanging g(«l, 

'I"hrough changeless Love, that led to it. 

What matters that one found his Christ 

In rising sun, or burning firp ? 

If ftith wickin him did not tire. 
His longing for the truth sufficed. 



r ■?l!il«r_.'':Fs\i."JB 




1(^4 



THE GOAL 

Before our " Cliristian " hell wai brought 

To edify « modern world, 

Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled 
In lakes of fire hy its own thought. 

A thousand creeds have come and gone ; 

But what is that to you or me ? 

Creeds are but hr.inchcsof a tree— 
The root of love lives on an^l cm. 

Though branch by br.inch proves withered wood 
The root is warm with precious wine ; 
Then keep your faith, and leave me mine ; 

All roads that lead to God are good. 



CHKIST CRUCIFIED 

NOW ere I slept, my prayer had been 
that I might see my way 
To do the will of Christ, our Lord 

and Master, day by day ; 
And with this prayer upn my lips, 

I knew not thai. I dreamed. 
But suddenly the world of night 

a pandemonium seemed. 
From forest, and from slaughter house, 
from bull ring, and from stall, 



CHRIST CRUCIKIEI) 

There roie an anguished cry of pain, 

a loud, appealing call ; 
A« man — the dumb beast's rcxt of Iti.i — 

with gun, and whip, and knife, 
Went pleaiure-seelting through the canli, 

blood-bent on taking life. 
From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo, 

and street, that awful strain 
Of tortured creatures rose and swelled 

the orchestra of pain. 
And then inethought the gentle Christ 

appeared to me, and spoke : 
" I called you, but ye answered not " 

and in my fear I woke. 



26: 



Then next I heard the roar u.' niilU ; 

and moving through lise noise. 
Like phantoms in an underworld, 

were little girls and boys. 
Their backs were bent, their brows were pale, 

their eyes were sad and old ; 
But by the labour of their iiandi 

greed added gold to gold. 
Again the Presence and the Voice : 

" Behold the crimes I see. 
As ye have done it unto these, 

»o have ye done to me." 




1 1 



til 



r 



,66 CHRIST CRUCIFIED 

Again 1 slept. I seemed to climb 

a hard, ascending track ; 
And just behind me laboured one 

whose patient face was hUd, 
I pitied him ; but hour by hoar 

he gained upon the path j 
He stood beside me, stood upright — 

and then I turned in wrath. 
" Go back !" 1 cried. " What right have you 

to walk beside me here f 
I'or you are W;\ck, and I am white." 

1 paused, struck dumb with fear, 
ror lo! the black man was not there, 

but Christ stood in his place ; 
And oh ! the pain, the pain, the pain 

that loo'.ed from that dear face. 



Now when 1 woke, the air was rife 

with that sweet, rhythmic din 
Which tells the world that Christ has come 

to save mankind from sin 
And through the open door of church 

and temple passed a throng. 
To worship Him with bended knee, 

with sermon, and with song. 
But over all I heard the cry 

of hunted, mangled things j 






THE TRIP TO MARS 

ThoM creaturei which are ptrt of God, 

though they have hoofs and wingj, 
I iiw in mill, and mine, and ihop, 

the little slaves of greed j 
I hejrd the strife of race with race, 

all sprung from one God-seed. 
And then I bowed my head in shame, 

and in coniritinn cricJ — 
" Lo, after nineteen hundred ye.irs, 

Christ still is Crutiilcd." 



iCy 



THE TRIP TO MARS 

OH 1 by and by wc s.'iall hear the crv, 
"This is the way to Mars. 
Ccmc take a trip, on the morning Ship ; 
It sails by the Isle of Stars. 

" A glorious view of planets new 
We promise by night and day. 

Past dying suns our good ship runs, 
And we pause at the Milky Way." 

I am almost sure we will take that tour 

Together, my dear, my dear. 
For, ever have we, by land and sea, 

Gone journeying far and near. 



MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TKT CHART 

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=^ 1653 East MoJr SIreel 

=".£ Rochester, New York '4609 USA 

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gas (716) 28e - 5989 - Fa. 



268 



THE TRIP TO MARS 



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B 



Out over the deep — o'er mountain steep, 

We have travelled mile on mile i 
And to sail away to the Martian Bay, 

Oh ! that were a trip worth while. 

Our ship will race through seas of space 

Up into the Realms of Light, 
Till the whirling ball of the earth grows small, 

And is utterly lost to sightJ 

Through the nebulous spawn where planets are born, 

We shall pass with sails well furled, 
And with eager eyes we will scan the skies. 

For the sights of a new-made world. 

From the derelict barque of a sun gone dark, 

Adrift on our fair ship's path, 
A beacon star shall guide us afar. 

And tar from the comet's wrath. 

Oh ! many a start of pulse and heart 

We have felt at the sights of land. 
But what would we do if the dream came true. 

And we sighted the Martian strand > 

So, if some day you come and say. 
They are sailing to Mars, I hear. 

I want you to know I am ready to go- 
All ready, my dear, my dear. 



PROGRESS 



269 



FICTION AND FACT 

IN books I read, how men have lived and died, 
With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. 
While she for whom they long in secret sighed. 
Went on her wa/, nor guessed lliis flame unbidden. 

In real life, I never chanced to see 

The woman who was loved, and did not know it 
And observatii)n proves this fact to me : 

No man can love a woman and not show it. 



PROGRESS 

THERE is no progress in the world of bees, 
However wise and wonderful they arc, 
Their wisdom makes not increase. Lies the b^r, 
To wider goals, in that tense strife to please 
A Sovereign Ruler ? Forth from flowers to trees 
Their little quest is ; not from star to star. 
This is not growth ; the mighty avatar 
Comes not to do his work with such as these. 

So in the world of men ; when legions toil 
To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown, 
They build before high heaven a narrowing wall 
And the great purpose of Cre.ition opoil. 
Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down ; 
The Race can rise but with the rise of all. 



270 HOW THE WHITE ROSE CAME 



HOW THE WHITE ROSE CAME 

THE roses all were pink and red, 
Before the Bumble Bee, 
A lover bold, with cloak of gold, 
Came singing merrily 
Along the sunlit ways that led 
From woodland, and from lea. 

Ha paused beside an opening rose. 
The garden's pet and pride j 
She burst in flower that very hour, 
While wooing zephyrs sighed ; 
No smile had she for one of tiiose, 
And hope within them died. 

The ardent butterfly in vain 

On radiant wings drew near ; 

The hapless moth in vain grew wroth— 

The fair rose leaned to hear 

The deep-voiced stranger's low refrain 

That thrilled upon her e.ir. 

She gave her heart in love's delight 

And let the whole world see ; 

Alas ! one day, away, away, 

Sped truant Bumble Bee ; 

'Twas then the red rose turned to whitc- 

So was the talc told me. 



i il 



I LOOK TO SCIENCE 



»"' 



I LOOK TO SCIENCE 

I LOOK to Science for the cure of Crime ; 
To patient righting of a thousand wronp : 
To final healing of a thousand ills. 
Blind runner now, and cruel egotist 
It yet leads on to more than mortal sight, 
And the large knowledge that means hurablenesi, 
And tender love for all created tilings. 

1 look to Science for the Coming Race 
Growing from seed selected ; and from soil 
Love fertilised ; and pruned by wisdom's hand, 
Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods, 
Strong primal creatures with awakened souls 
And normal passions, gov ed by the will. 
Leaving a trail of glory v re they tread. 



I look to Science f^r the growth of Faith. 
That bold denier of accepted creeds — 
That mighty doubter of accepted truths — 
Shall yet reveal God's secrets to the world. 
And prove the facts it seeks to overthrow. 
And * new name shall Science henceforth bear — 
The Great Religion of the U nivcrse. 



»7» 



APPRECIATION 



T ■ 


1 


L 


lillil 


Wm\i 



APPRECIATION 

THEY prize not most the opulence of June 
Who from the year's beginning to its close 
Dwell, where unfading verdure tireless grows, 
And where sweet summer's harp is kept in tune. 
We must have listened to the winter's rune, 
And felt impatient longings for the rose, 
Ere its full radiance on our vision glours. 
Or with its fragrant soul we can commune. 

Not they most prize life's olessings, and delights. 

Who walk in safe and sunny paths alway. 

Bat those who, groping in the darkness, borrow 

Pale rays from hope, to lead them through the night. 

And in the long, long watches wait for day. 

11l- knows not joy who has not first known sorrow. 

THE AWAKENING 

I LOVE the tropics, where sun and rain 
Go forth together, a joyous train. 
To hold up the green, gay side of the world. 
And to keep earth's banners of bloom unfurled 

I love the scents that are hidden there 

By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air : 

Strange and subtle and all a-rife. 

With vague lost dreams of a b/gone life. 



THE AWAKENING i;j 

They iteal upon you by nig!-t and day, 
But never a whifTcan you take away : 
And never a song of a tropic bird 
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard. 

And nowhere else can you know the sweet 
Soft, "joy-in-nothing," that comes with the heat 
Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet. 
If in evergreen worlds my way were ;ct 



In, 



I would sp.m the waters of widest se.is 

To see the wonder of waking trees ; 

To feel the shock of sudden delight 

That comes when the oich.ird has changed ir 

night, 
From the winter nun to the bride of May, 
And the harp of Spring is attuned to pl:iy 
The wedding march, and the sun is priest, 
And the world is bidden to join the fc.ist. 

Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime. 
Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chnne, 
That leap o' the blood, and the rapture thnl'. 
That comes to us here, with .he first bird's tri:i 
And only the eye that has looked on snows 
Can see the beauty that lies in a rose. 
The lure of the tropics I understand, 
But ho! for the Spring in my native land. 



»74 



MOST BLEST IS HE 



MOST BLEST IS HE 






MOST blest is he who in the morning time 
Sets forth upon his journey with no staff 
Shaped by another for his use. Who sees 
The imminent necessity for toil, 
And with each morning waliens to the thought 
Of tasks that wait his doing. Never yet 
Has unearned leisure and the gift of gold 
Bestowed such be>iefits upon the young 
As need and loneliness ; and when life adds 
The burden of a duty, difficult, 
And hard to carry, then rejoice, O soul ! 
And know thyself one chosen for high things. 
Behind thee walk the Helpers. Yet lead on ! 
They only help the lifters, and they give 
But unto those who also freely give. 
Not till thy will, thy courage, and thy strength 
Have done their utmost, and thy love has flowed 
In pity and cmpassion, out to all 
(The worthless, the ungrateful, and the weak, 
As well as to the \iorthy and the strong) 
Canst thou receive invisible support. 
Do first thy part, and all of it, before 
Asking the helpers to do aught for thee. 
For this alone the Universe eiicts, 
That man may find himself] Destiny. 



it 



NIRVANA 



»75 



NIRVANA 

A DROP of water risen from the ocean 
Forgot it! cause, and spake with deep emotion 
Unto a passing breeze. " How desolate 
And all forlorn !■ .ny unhappy fate. 
J know not whence I came, or where t go. 
Scorched by the sun, or chilled by winds that blow, 
I dwell in space a little time, then pass 
Out into the night and nothingness— alas !" 

" Nay," quoth the breeze, " my friend, that cannot be. 

Thou dost reflect the Universe to me. 

Look at thine own true self, and there behold 

A world of light, all acintillant with gold." 

J list there the drop sank back into the wave 

From wlicnce it came. Nay, that was not its gravel 



It lived, it moved, it was a joyous part 

Of that strong palpitating ocean heart ; 

Iti little dream of loneliness was done ; 

It wokj to find. Self, and Cause, were one. 

So ahalt thou wake, sad mortal, when thy course 

Has run its karmic round, and reached the Source, 

And even now thou dost reflect the whole 

Of God's great glory in thy shining soul. 



»76 



LIFE 




LIFE 

OH ! I feci the growing glo-/ 
or our life upon this tphi:rc, 
Of the life llut like a river 
Runs for ever and for ever, 
From th': somewhere to the here 
".nd still on and onward flowing, 
Leads us out to larger knpwinj;, 
Through the hiiiJcn, to ihc clear. 

And I feel a deep thcnksgiving 
For the sorrows I have known ; 
For the worries and the crosses, 
And the grieving and the losses, 
That along my path were sown. 
Nsw the great eternal meaning 
Of each trouble I am gleaning. 
And t'le harvest is my own. 

I im opulent with knowledge 
Of the Purpose and the Cause, 
And I go my way rejoicing. 
And in s'nging seek the voicing 
Of love's never-failing laws. 
From the now, unto the Yonder, 
Full of beauty and of wonder. 
Life flows ever without pause. 



TWO MEN 

And 1 fe^A the exultation 

Ofi chiU that loves its play, 

Theiigh the ranks of f. -.Midj are thInniMc, 

Still the enj is but br^-i.,iiing 

Of a larger, fuller da/, 

And the joy ot liic is sjv;. ng 

From my spirit, at all willing 

I go speeding on my way. 



V7 



TWO MEN 

COmuch one thought about the life bevond 
^ He did not drain the waters of his pond ■ 
And when death laid his children "neath the sod 
He called it—" the mysterious will of God " 
He would not strive for worldly gai„, „«( he. 
His wealth, he said, was stored in God'. To Be. 
He kept his mortal body poorly drest, 
And talked about the garments of the' blest 
And when to his last sleep he laid him down 
His only mourner begged her widow", gow.,. 

One was not sure there was a life to come. 

So made an Eden of his earthly home; 

He strove for wealth and with an open hand 

He comforted the needy in his land. 

He wore new garments often, and the old 

Helped many a brothe- to keep out the cold. 

•9 



•7« 



ONLY BE STILL 

He Mid thii life was such i little ip»n 
Man ought to make the most of it— f>-. man. 
And when he died the fortune that he U ft 
Gave luccour to the needy and bereft. 



ill! 






ONLY BE STILL 

.< ^NLY be still, and in the silence grow," 
\J If thou art seeking what the gods bestow. 
This is the simple, safe, and certain way 
That leads to knowledge for which all men pray 
Of higher laws to govern things below. 

But in our restless discontent we go 
With noisy importuning day on day- 
Drowning the inner voice that strives to say 

" Only be still, and in the silence grow." 

We doubt, we cavil, and we talk of woe— 

We delve in book?, and waste our forces so ; 
We cling to creeds that were not meant to s;ay, 
And close our ears to Truth's immortal lay. 

Oh wouldst thou see, and understand, and knuw ? 

" Only be s-.ill, and in the silence grow." 



PARDONED UT 



»79 



PARDONED OUT 

T'M pirJoiiedout. Ag.iin the Stan 
•t Shine ( n mc with their myriad eyes. 
So long I've peered 'twixt iron bars, 
r awed by this expanse of skies. 
The world is wider than I thought, 
And yet 'tis not so «ide, I hio ,■, 
But into its remotest spot 
My tale of slum can go. 

I'm pardoned out. Old Father Time 

Who seemed to halt in hoiror, when 
I stained my manhood by a crime 

With steady step moves on aga 
And through the black appalling t..^nt. 

That walled me in a gloom accurst. 
The wonder of the morning light 

In sudden glory burst. 

I'm pardoned out. I shall be known 

No more by number, but by name. 
And yet each whispering wind has blown 

Abroad the story of my shame. 
I dread to see men shrink away 

With startled looks of scorn or feat, 
When in life's crowded marts some day, 

That name falls on their ear. 



is I* 



280 



THE TIDES 

rm par<^oned out, ah God ! to roam 

Like 5ome whiFl'cd dog among my kind. 
I have no friends, 1 luve no home 

Save these bleak walb ! leave behmd. 
How can I face the world of men, 

My comrades in the days of yore! 
Oh 1 hide me in my cell again, 

And, warden, lock the door. 



■I u 



, i: '"U. 






THE TIDES 

OH vain is the stern protesting 
Of winds, when the tide runs h.gh; 

And vainly the deep-sea waters 

Call out, as the waves speed by ; 
For, deaf to the claim of the ocean, 

To the threat of the loua w-r.d. aumb, 
Past reefand bar, to shores afar. 
They rush when the hour is come. 

Vainly the tempest thunders, 

Of unsexed waves that roam, 
Away from the mid-sea calmness. 

Where Nature made their home. 
For the voice of the great Moon-Mother, 

Has spoken and said, "Be free. 
And the tide must go to the strong full flow. 

In the time of the perigee. 



il..ij' 



THE TIDES 18, 

So vai'n is the cry of the masters, 

And vain the pica of the hc:irth ; 
As the ranks of the strange New Woman 

Go swcei-ing across the earth. 
They have come from hall and hovel. 

They have pushed through door an.) gate j 
On the world's highway they are crowded to-day, 

For the hour is the hour of fate. 



Many are hurt in the crowding, 

The light of the home burns dim ; 
And man is aghast at the changes. 

Though all can be traced to him. 
They sat too long at the hearthstone, 

And sat too oft alone : 
And the silence spoke, and their souls awoke 

And now they must clain. their own. 



Let no man hope to hinder, 

Let no man bid them pause : 
They are moved by a hidden purpose. 

They follow resistless laws. 
And out of the wreck and chaos 

Of the order that used to be, 
A strong new race shall take its place 

In a world we are yet to see. 



tSz 



PROGRESSION 



Oh, ever has man been lead.r, 

Yet failed as woman's guiJo. 
It is better that she step forward. 

And take her place at his side. 
For only from greater woman, 

May come the greater man, 
Through life's long quest they should walk abreast- 

As was meant by the primal plan. 



It# 






i 






PROGRESSION 

TO each progressive soul there comes a day 
When all things that have pleased and satisfied 
Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried. 

No more the waters of youth's fountains play ; 
Yet out of r'ach, tiptoeing as they may, 

The more mature and higher pleasures hide. 
Lire like a careless nurse, fails to provide 
New toys for those the soul ha. cast away. 

Upon a strange land's border all alone 
Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate. 

Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown , 
Till clothed with strengf.i befitting its estate. 

It grasps at length those raptures that are known 
To souls who learn to labour, and to wait. 



ACQUAINTANCE 



283 



ACQUAINTANCE 

■^JOT we who daily walk the city's street, 

i. ^ Not those who have been cradled in its heart, 

Best understand its architectural art 

Or realise its grandeur. Oft we meet 

Some stranger who has staid his passing feet 

And lingered with us for a single hour. 

And learned more of cathedral, and of tower. 

Than v.e who deem our knowledge quite complete. 

Not always those we hold most loved and dear. 
Not always those who dwell with us, know best 
Out greater selves. Because they stand so near 
They cannot see the lofty mountain crest. 
The gleaming sun-kissed height, whi :h fair and clear 
Stands forth— revealed unto the some-time guest. 

ATTAINMENT 

■■ I "•HERE is no summit you may not attain, 
1 No purpose which you may not yet achieve 
If you will wait serenely and believe. 

Each seeming loss is but a step to'rd gain. 

Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain ; 

Let nothing make you question, doubt, or grieve ; 

Give only good, and good alone receive j 
And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain. 






28+ 



THE TOWER- ROOM 



That which you most desire awaits your word i 
T!.row wide the door and bid it enter in. 

Speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirrec" ; 
Speak, and above earth's loud, unmeaning din 

Your silent declarations shall be heard. 
All things are possible to God's own kin. 



Ml 



il» 



I i 



I 



I 



THE TOWER-ROOM 

THERE is a room serene and fair, 
All palpitant wuh light and aii j 
Free from the dust, world's noise and fuss- 
God's Tower-room in each of us. 

Oh I many a stair our feet must press. 
And climb from self to selflessness, 
Before we reach that radiant room 
Above the discord and the gloom. 

So many, many stairs to climb, 
But mount them gently— take your time ; 
Rise leisurely, nor strive to run — 
Not so the mightiest feats are done. 

Well doing of the little things : 
Repression of the word that stings ; 
The tempest of the mind made still 
By victory of the God-like will. 



FATHER jgj 

The hated task performed in !ove — 
All these are stairs that wind above 
The things that trouble and annoy. 
Up to the Tower-room of joy. 

Rise leisurely j the stairs once trod 
Reveal the mountain peaks of God ; 
And from its upper room the soul 
Sees all, in one united whole. 



FATHER 

TTE never made a fortune, or a noise 
■1- i- In the world where men are seeking after fame ; 
But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys 
Who loved the very ground on which he trod. 
They thought him just a little short of God j 
Oh, you should have heard the way they said his name— 
"Father." 



There seemed to be a loving little prayer 
In their voices, even when they called him " Dad." 
Though the man was never heard of anywhere 
As a hero, yet you mehow understood 
He was doing well his part and making good ; 
And you knew it, by the way his children had 
Ol saying " Father." 



286 



FATHER 



He gave them neither eminence nor wealth, 
But he gave them blood umaintcd with a vice, 
And the opulence of undiluted health. 
He was honest, and unpurchable and kind; 
He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind. 
So he made them heirs to riches without price — 
This father. 



He never preached or scolded ; and the rod — 
Well, he used it as a turning pole in play. 
But he showed the tender sympathy of God 
To his children in their troubles, and their joys. 
He was always chum and comrade with his boys. 
And his daughters — oh, you ought to hear them say 
" Father." 






1 



Now I think of all achievements 'tis the least 
To perpetuate the species ; it is done 
By the insect and the serpent, and the beast. 
But the man who keeps his body, and his thought, 
IVorth bestowing on an offspring love-begot, 
Then the highest earthly glory he has won. 
When in pride a grown-up daughter or a ion 
Says "That's Father." 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL a8; 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 

EXPLANATORY 

Kamehameiia Fi«ST,of tht Hawaian Islands, conquered his 
toesma great battle, driving them over the high mountain 
peak known a, Pali-one of the fa.nous scenic views of the 
world, and the goal of all visitor, in Honolulu. 

The Hula (pronounced h,ola) wa, the national muscle and 
abdominal dance of Hawaii, aud the late King Kalakua was 
Its enthusiastic p:,fron. The costume of the dancers wa-. 
composed chiefly of skirt, of grass. The Hula (so attired) i, 
now forbidden by law. The Hula Kul >, a modification of 
the dance and exceedingly giaceful. 

Many charming young self-supporting women in Honolulu 
^ace their ancestry back to Kamehameha with great prid- 
The chant is .weird sinj-song which relates the conquests of 
the race. ^ 

It is the custom in Honolulu to present guests at feasts and 
testivals. or departing visitors, with long wreaths of natural 
flowers, and which are worn by men as well as women, about 
the head, hat, and nerk. These wreaths called lais (pro- 
nounced lap), sometimes reach below the waist 

The flower-seilers are one of the national features ot 
Honolulu. 

5..'« made to rtpresem grounds at Hawaiian Hold. 
Sort of open cafe or pavilion with falm, fines, and 
tropic flowers, ralph sitting alone with a dreams 
air, ■' 

Enter ETHKL-in short travelling suii-i^pscal American 
girl — tUnde and petite. 



\.y- 



I,; 



' 



a88 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 



ETHEt 

OH. here you .re. Your .i.tcr .nd your mothc. 
Commi«ioned me detective, .leuth. .nd .;.). 
To find the disappearing .on .nd brother i 
And tell him th.t the time i> slipping by. 
Our bo.t will ..il in ju»t two hour,, you know. 
Dear Honolulu, how I h.te to go. 

RALPH 

Don't mention it J I =hun the very thought. 

ITHIL 

Yon .ee this » the .ort of thing one hears 
And don't believe, until one sees the spot. 
We left New York in snow up to its ears j 
And now . Paradise ! the palm, the rose. 
The BoaganviUia. and the breath of summer. 

.A1.PH 

t tell you Honolulu is i hummer. 

It pars for six long dAVS upon the an— 

And 'those sad memories of a ship's queer motion. 

ITHXL 

There', one thing, though, that', disappointed me- 
The much exploited Honolulu ma.d. 
I haven't seen a beauty in the town. 



THE NEW HAWA'UN GIRL 



189 



They're chid ai ripe bananai on 1 tree. 
You have not been observing, I'm afraij. 

ITHIL (itruggivg her ihuUtri) 
Oh well, tajtei differ ; I don't care for brown, 
At least for this pronounced Hawaiian shade ; 
I really can't imagine how a man 
Could love a girl dyed to a chroiix tin, 

RALPH 

Someone has said, ' Love go;s where it is sent,' 

iTHEL (ladh) 

I think that true ; one cannot guide its bent. 
But I must go ; and will you come along i 
Your mother said to bring you. 

RAtPR 

Not ijuite yet ; 
I'll wait until that bird completes its song ; 
The last I'll hear, till many a sun has set. 
Just tell the folks I'li meet them on the pier. 

[Exit ETHEL, Uoking disapptintti. 

KALPH {^iilting dcviH in * revirit) 

A nice girl, Ethel ; but, by Jove, it's queer 
I'hc way 1 fellow's stubborn mind will turn 




»9o THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 

To something thit he ihould forget. That face — 
I saw once on a San Francisco itreet, 
How well I do recall the time and place ! 
" A girl from Honolulu," lomeone said. 
I wonder where th. is now 1 Married f Dead f 
[^ si/tnt rtferit fir t mtmenl. Thin tftiki 
again.] 
I planned this trip with just one crazy thought— 
To look upon that strange girl's face once more. 
That is the luny project which has brought 
The four of us to this idyllic shore. 

[Laughs and lights a iigar.'] 
My scheme was worked with such consr.mmate care 
That mother thinks sh planned the whole affair. 
Then she invited Ethel as her guest. 
\Silence far a mem tut,] 
Well, sometimes mothers know just what is best 
For wayward sons. 

And yet, and yet, and yet, 
Why is it one girl's face I can't forget f 
Why is it that I feel despondent hearted 
In missing that fool hope for which I started ? 
Four thousand miles is something of a chase 
To run to cover one elusive face 
And then xafail. 

YReyerie. A chant is heard outside. Tit man 
listens. The chant ceases and then a maiden 
slcv'ly approaches calling out her fiwer wares, 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 



«9> 



wUeb lilt tarriti in a iaiiel / tit wears sevirM 
hii hirstif, on hat andntsk, Skt dtet nut tlnirvi 
the man at first. ^ 

Fi.ow£» GIKL (etili in * mnsical vcici) 

L,iii, laiB, royal laii, beautiful floweri in bloom ( 
Colours of iplcndour, fragrance «o tender, 
Ulossoms to brighten your room j 
Laii, lai:, royal lais, who buys — 

RALPH [Itjns firtoarJ iiiid sa;js asiJt 

(Eve and the serpent meet in Paradise.) 

[lie mtves forward as the mniJ enters tie Jecrzcai. 
Jieecrnitiisn shows in both faces. Then the 
maiden recover s her self-possession and starts to go. ] 

MLTH (w<// sudden btldr.eis and excitemtn:) 

I'll buy you out, in case you then are free 
To stay awhile, beneath this banyan tree, 

And tell me all about ) our lovely land. 

FLOWER GIRL {viith digKlt)) 

Your pardon, sir, I do not understand. 

RALPH 'who seems drunk with ex/iiluratier.) 

Oh well, 'tis plain enough ; from realms of snow 
I landed here some little time ago. 



^1 



igi THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 

A lonely orphan, without kith or Itia. 
I need a friend. 

[flower ai«L giv/J tim M inJigniiHt, iurfri,t4 
gtaiitt. Thin iliuki tuilh fiiifl itreaint.] 
Sir, they will take you in 
On Hotel Street. The Y.M.C.A. there 
Shelteri all homelcs* youths within itt pale. 

»ALrH {liaUng iii ieaJ stdtf) 
They wouldn't take mt in. 1 am from Vale. 

GIRL (a/'^ Kick lynfathy) 

Oh, that ;■/ lad. Because no skill or tact 
You might employ could ever hide the tact 
From all the world, wherever you might be. 
Now Harvard, Princeton, Stanford men, we see 
And never know, until they speak the name ; 
But Yale — it bears its brand. 



i;! 
ill 



RALPH (rtfrsathfutl}) 

You're making game 
Of me, and of my College, cruel girl 

\Appr caches hr excitrj/y.] 
Come, drop those flowers, and let us h.ive a whirl. 
I'll give you both the Yale Yell and the Boola, 
If you will dance for lue your famous Hula. 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN (JIRL j,, 

ci>i. {i'rjKiirg i.i.i hiiuihiS) 
I dince the Hull .» You mijtilce, my friend ; 
You heard my chant, but did ml comprehend 
The meaning of it. Hark, while I repeat it. 
[Rfft4ti the ch.ii:i.\ 

• Ar.PH {juzz.'f i) 
Vm lure there's nothing in the world can beat it ; 
But — er — the language ii a little qu.er j 
I did not quite catch all the words, I fear j 
Besides, I'm lo distracted by your face. 

That chant relitei the ronquest of my race ( 
Though I tm poor, and hawk about these ' .is 
"To earn my bread, yet in the jlden daji 
There was no prouder family on earth 
ri'an mine. But Polynesian pride of birth 
Is quite beyond the white man's scope of brain, 
And so perchance I speak to you in vain. 
[Tdiei htrfl.airi ami taiti ta go.l 

iALi'H (itiltrcefti hi) 
Great Scott ! but you are splendid when you're mad ' 
Now, please, don't go ; I'm really not so bad : 
i don't mean half 1 suy. 



»9* 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 



■Ir 



GIRL {turni hhzing eyes upon him) 
Oh, all ynu men 
Of pallid blooa, .gain, and yet again 
Have offered insults to our island races. 
I own we once were savage ; and the traces 
Of those wild days remain ; but, sir, go back 
A little way, on your ancestral track, 
And see whai you will find. A horde of bold 
And lawless cut-throats, started many an old 
And purse-proud race ; and brutal strength became 
The blood groundwork for pretentious fame 
When Mi t was Right. If every royal tree 
Were dug up by the roots, the world would see 
That common mud first mothered the poor sprout. 
Your race is higher than my own, no doubt ; 
Then shame upon you, for the poor display 
Of noble manhood that you make to-day. 
Thinking each brown-faced girl your lawful prey. 
{Turm her back upon him and Harts to go?^ 



RALPH (^leadinglj) 

Oh, say now, let a fellow have a show. 

I never meant to rouse your anger so ; 

I only meant-I— well, you see the change 

Of climate was so sudden ; and the strange 

And gorgeous scenery, and your glorious eyes 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIKL 



295 



Upset my brain. But you have put me wise. 
1 own liiat I had heard — 

[/l:si;,i.'es, anJ amh breaks forth again.] 

Oh, yes, I know you heard 
Wild tales of Honolulu ; and were stirred 
With high ambitions to return to Yale, 
The envied hero of 3 wilder tale ; 
You thought each maiden on this Isle, perchance 
Wore skirts of grass, and danced the Hula dance ; 
And gave her lips to any man for gold. 

R\LPM {i>ilerriiptir:g') 
Oh, 'pon my h jinur, I was not so bold— 

GIRL (igmring, and with v;':efneti c) 

Vou thought the old-time licence still prevailed ; 
You did not know across the heavens had sailed 
A beautiful star in brilliancy arraved, 
The Self-Respeetiiig New IlataalLin MaiJ— 
Who prides herself upon her blood and birth 
And holds her virtue at its priceless worth ; 
And stands undaunted in her rightful place 
Snow white of soul, however brown of face 
Warmer in blood than your white women are 
And yet more moral in her life by far 
Than many a leader in your halls of fashion. 



196 



.1; ' 

V i 



4M i 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 

RALPH (g-izhg «/ ^er Witt adm.r.ir.o') 



I vow I lite to «ee you in a passion ; 

Such royal rage ! Your forbear was, I knnw 

Kame-a-lili-like-kalico, 

Or some such .lame : who got in that great tuT 

And tumbled all his foes down off the cl.fi. 

I feci I'm lying with them in the valley ^^ ^ 

While you stand all triumphant, on the ?i.\. 

GIRL (smi/'ing at"! stfl tried) 
You mean Kamchamcha First, I'm sure. 
Yes, I am of his line. 

RALPH 

May it endure 
Until the end of time ; for you are great t 
The world needs women like you. 

[girl turns it go. 

RALPH , 

Oh, now waitl 
I want some flowers ; please hang a'uout my neck 
A dozen lais ; and give me half a peck 
Of nice bouquets ; then I will hire a band 
And celebrate my entrance to your land. 
I'll dance the Hula, up and down the street 
And cry Mia, to each girl I meet ; 
And if she frowns, and calls me cad, and churl, 



1 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL ,97 

I'll shout, Long Live the New Hawaiian Gijl 

Rah, rah, rah, Yale, Yale, Yale I 

[./ Hdwrnian B,ii:J ii h,ir,l iipfinijtbirigA 

riRL {laughingly, as lie hangi Uis ab'jiit lis ne.k) 

Well, there's your band j and since you are so kiml, 

To purchase all my flowers, I've halt's mind 

To favour you with, not the Hula, sir. 

But something more refined, and prettier. 

I'll teach it to you ; a;lt the band out tlicre 

To play the Hula Kui dancing air ; 

Th-'n follow all I do, and copy me. 

This is the way it starts, now one, two, three. 

\_Jfter the danct ends, Ralph approjches the girl 
with tense face and speaks Kith gi eat stritunussA 
Girl, though I do not even know your ame. 
Yet here I stand, and oft'tr you my own ; 
It was for you I came, for you alone. 
Across the half w -!d. I have never known 
Forgetfulness, si . first your face I saw. 
In coming here, I but obeyed Love's law j 
I thought it fancy, passion, or caprice ; 
I know now it is Lvi'e. 

FLowtR oiRt (viith emotion) 

I pray you, cca;c j 
You do not understand yourself ; go, go ; 

[Urges him teuuirds exit. 



I 



in 



% 



198 THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 

RALPH {sdziitg her hanS) 

I will not go until I hear you say 
That you remember even as I do 
Th^c brief encounter on the street one day. 

[flower girl turns her face atvaj and tries to free 
her ia/iJ] 

RALPH {cxult.mtl}) 

Oh, it is Fate ; and Fate we must obey. 
{lakes ringfrtm his finger.} 
Let the ship go ; but with my heart I stay. 

[ Jtlemfts to plaie ring on ci ih'spger. SI.e wmichs 
her hand free, and stands with both hands bel^nd 
her as she speaks with suppressed emoli'.n.\ 
The heart of every Island girl on earth 
I think hides one sweet dream, and it is thii : 
To one day meet a man of higher birth— 
To win his heart— to feel his tender kiss— 
And sail with him to come far distant land. 
Thii too has been my dream ; wherein your face 
Slione like a beacon. 

{%epels RALPH m he starts frwar J.] 

But I know your race, 
Too well, too well. I know how such dreams end. 
You could not clai'i me in your land, my friend, 
For colour prejudice if rampant there. 



THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL 299 

RALPH {impttuilisly) 
But I will stay for ever here, I swear — 

FLOWIR CIRL 

Nay, do not swear, you would but break the vow 
As many another has. Our tropic sun 
Affects men like a fever ; when 'tis run, 
Then their delusions pass. Oh leave me now ; 
I hear the whistle of your ship — adieu ! 
Alohoa oie — may God be with you. 

[Enter ethel hurriedly\ 

Come, Ralph, your mother and your sister wait 
Quite frantic at the pier, lest you be late. 
They sent me for you, 

\Exit RALPH with ETHEI ; he looks back and fiings 
GIRL a wreath, girl imiles and sings Hawaiian 
long, picks up the wreath and drips face in her 
hands as Curtain goes down.] 



II 



n ! 



MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS 



ir 



Ill ^^1 



m*' 



MAURINK 



PART I 

T SAT and sewed, and sang some tender tune, 
A Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June I 
Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms (air ; 
The climbing rose-tree grew about me there, 
And checked with shade the sunny portico 
Where, morns like this, I came to read, or sew. 

I heard the gate click, and a firm, quick tread 
Upon the walk. No need to turn my head ; 
I would mistake, and d ubt my own voice sounding. 
Before his step upon the gravel bounding. 
In an unstudied attitude of grace, 
He stretched his comely form ; and from his fare 
He tossed the dark, damp curls ; and at my knees. 
With his broad hat he fanned the lazy breeze. 
And turned his head, and lifted his large eyes. 
Of that strange hue we see in ocean dyes. 
And call it blue sometimes and sometimes green, 
.'ind save in poet eyes, not elseuhcre seen. 
J03 



I 



30+ 



MAURINE 



" Le«t I shoulJ meet with my fair lady'i ^co^nlIl4, 

For calling quite to early in the morning, 

I ve brought * pa8!"ort that can never fail," 

He »aid, and, laughing, laid the morning mail 

Upon my lap. " I'm welcome f lo I thought 1 

I'll figure by the letters that I brought 

How glad you are to »ee me. Only one t 

And that one from a lady ? I'm undone I 

That, lightly »kimmcd, you'll think me «.* a 

bore, 
And wonder why I did not bring you four. 
It'» ever thus : a woman cannot get 
So many letters that she will not fret 
O'er one that did not come." 

" I'll prove jrou wrong," 

I answered gaily, " here upon the spot I 

This little letter, precious if not long, 

Is just the one, of all you might have brought. 

To please me. You have heard me speak I'm sure, 

Of Helen Trevor : she writes here to say 

She's coming out to see me ; and will stay 

Till Autumn, maybe. She is, like her note, 

Petite and dainty, tender, loving, pure. 

You'd know he» by a letter that she wrote. 

For a sweet tinted thing. 'Tis always so :— 

Letters all blots, though finely written, show 

A slovenly person. Letters stiff and white 

Bespeak a nature honest, plain upright. 



MAUm.NE 305 

And ttnuey, timed, perfumed notes, like this, 
Tell of » creature formed to pet and kiss." 



My listener heard me with a slow, odd smile j 
Stretched in abandon at my feet, the while. 
He fanned me idly with his broad-brimmed hat. 
"Then a'; young ladies must be formed fur that !" 
He laughed, and said. 

" Their Icticr.i read, and look, 
As like as twenty copies of one book. 
They're written in a dainty, spider scrawl. 
To ' darling, precious Kate,' or • Fan,' or ' Moll.' 
The ' dearest, sweetest ' friend they ever had. 
They say they ' want to see you, oh, so bad !' 
Vow they'll ' forget you, never, never, oh !' 
And then they tell about a splendid beau — 
A lovely hat — a charming dr:;ss, and send 
A little scrap of this to every friend. 
And then to close, for lack of something better, 
They beg you'll ' read and burn this hurriJ letter.' " 



He watched me, smiling. He was prone to vex 
And hector me with flings upon my sex. 
He liked, he said, to have me flash and frown. 
So he could tease me, and then laugh me down. 
My storms of wrath amused him very much : 
He liked to see rae go oiFat a touch ; 



)o6 



MAURINE 



, 



II'! 



. ;l!:. 



Anger became me— made my colour riie, 
And gave an added luitre to my eyes. 
So he would talk— and so he watchcJ me now. 
To lee the hot flush mantle cheeli and brow. 

Initead, I answered coolly, with a smile, 
Felling a seam with utmost care, meanwhile; 
" The caustir tongue of Vivian Dangerfield 
Is barbed as ever, for my sex, this morn. 
Still unconvinced, no smallest point I yield. 
Woman I love, and trust, despite your scorn. 
There is some truth in what you say i Well, yes 1 
Your statements usually hold more or lets. 
Some women write weak letters — (some men do ;) 
Some make professions, knowing tli. lU untrue. 
And woman's friendship, in the time of need, 

I own, too often proves a broken reed. 

But I believe, and ever «ill contend. 

Woman can be a sister woman's friend 

Giving from out her large heart's bounteous store 

A living love — claiming to do no more 

Than, through and by that love, she knows she can ; 

And living by her professions, /lie a man. 

And such a tie, true friendship's silken tether. 

Binds Helen Trevor's heart and mine together. 

I love her for her beauty, meekness, grace ; 

For her white lily soul and angel face. 

She loves me, for my greater strength, maybe ; 

Loves — .ind would give her heart's best blood for nic. 



MAURINE 



J07 



And I, to lave her from ■ pain, or eron, 

Would luffer «ny sairifice or Ion, 

Such can be woman't fricndihip for another. 

Could man give more, or asit more from a brother ?" 

I paused : and Vivian leaned hii massive head 

Against the pillar of the portico, 

Smiled his slow, sceptic smile, then laughed, nnd laid : 

" Nay, surely not — if what you say be so. 

You've made a statement, but no proof's at hand. 

Wait — do not flash your eyes so I Understand 

I think you quite sincere in what you say : 

You love your friend, and she loves you, to-day ; 

But friendship is not friendship at the beat 

Till circumstances put it to the test. 

Man's, less demonstrative, stands strain and tear, 

While woman's, I'iif profession, fails to we.ir. 

Two women love each other passing well — 

Say Helen Trevor and Maurine La Pelle, 

Just for example. 

Let them daily meet 
At ball and concert, in the church a.id street. 
They kiss and coo, they visit, chat, caress ; 
Their love increases, rather than grows less j 
And all goes well, till 'Helen dear' discovers 
That ' Maurine darling' wins too many lovers. 

And then her ' precious friend,' her 'pet,' her 'sweet ' 
Becomes a ' minx, a ' creature all deceit.' 



oi; MAURINE 

Let Helen smile too oft on Maurinc's beaux, 

Or wear more stylish or becoming clothes, 

Or sport .1 hat that has a longer feather — 

And lo ! the strain has broken 'friendship's tether.' 

Maurine's sweet smile becomes a frown or [ o'.u ; 

' She's just begun to fir ' that Helen out.' 

The breach grows wider — anger fills each hcnrt ; 

They drift asunder, whom 'but death could part.' 

You shake your head ? Oh, well we'll never know ! 

It is not likely Fate will test you so. 

You'll live, and love ; and, meeting twice a year, 

While life shall last, you'll hold each other dear. 

I pray it may be so ; it were not best 

To shake your faith in woman by the test. 

Keep your belief, and nurse it while you t.in. 

I've faith in woman's friendship too — for man I 

They're true as steel, as mothers, friends, and wives : 

And that's enough to bless ui all our lives. 

That man's a selfish fellow, and a bore. 

Who is unsatisfied and asks for more." 

" But there is need of more I" I here broke in. 

" I hold that woman guilty of a sin. 

Who would not ci.ng to, and defend auotlier, 

As nobly as she would stand by a brother. 

Who would not suffer for a sister's sake. 

And, were there need to prove her friendship, make 

'Most any sacrifice, nor count the cost. 

Who would not do this for a frienr is lost 

To every nobler principle." 



Cried Viv 
The whole! 



.M/'JRINE 

" Shame, sliame ! 
lirg, " for you now defame 



: sweet sex ; since there's not o 
The thing you name, nor would I want her to. 
1 love the sex. My mother was a woman — 
I hope my wife will be, and whclly human. 
And if she wants to make some sacrifice, 
I'll think her far more sensible and wise 
To let her husband reap the benefit, 
Instead of some old maid or senseless chit. 
Selfish? Of course! I hold all love is so : 
And I shall love my wife right well, I know. 
Now there's a point regarding selfish love, 
You thirst to argue with me, and disprove. 
But since these cosy hours will soon be gone. 
And all our meetings broken in upon, 
No more of these rare moments must be spent 
In vain discussions, or in argument. 
I wish Miss Trevor was in — Jericho I 
(You see the selfishness begins to show.) 
She wants to see you ? — So do I : but she 
Will gain her wish, by taking you from me. 
'Come all the same r' that means I'll be allowed 
To realise that ' three can make a crowd.' 
I do not like to feel myself de trop. 
With two girl cronies would I not be so.' 
My ring would interrupt some private chat. 
You'd ask me in and take my cane and hat, 



309 



u!d Jo 



M 
I 



\l 



Ib--.*! 



i 1!'! 



310 



MAURINE 



And speak about the lovely summer day, 

And think — ' The lout ! I wish he'd kept a*vay.' 

Miss Trevor'd smile, but just to hide a ^jout 

And count the moments till I was shown out. 

And, while I twirled ray thumbs, I would sit wishing 

That I had gone off hunting birds, or Hshing, 

No, thanks, Maurine I The iron hand of Fate 

(Or otherwise Miss Trevor's dainty fingers,) 

Will bar my entrance into Eden's gate ; 

And I shall be like some poor soul that lingers 

At heaven's portal, paying the price of sin, 

Yet hoping to be pardoned and let in," 

He looked so melancholy sitting there, 

I laughed outright. " How well you act a part ; 

You look the very picture of despair ! 

You've missed your calling, sir ! suppose you start 

Upon a starring tour, and carve your name 

With Booth's and Barrett's on the heights of Fame 

But now, tabooing nonsense, I shall send 

For you to help me entertain my friend, 

Unless you come without it. ' Cronies ?' True, 

Wanting our 'private chats' as cronies do. 

And we'll take those, while you are reading Greek, 

Or writing * Lines to Dora's brow ' or * cheek.* 

But when you have an hour or two of leisure. 

Call as you now do, and afTord like pleaiurt. 

For never yet did heaven's sun shine on. 

Or stars discover, that phenomenon, 



it^ttyirtl r 



i 



iliin" 



ek, 



MAURINE 31 

In any country, or in any clime : 

Two jnaids so bound, by ties of mind and heart, 

They did not feel the heavy weight of time 

In weeks of scenes wherein no man took part. 

God made tlie sexes to associate : 

Nor law of man, nor stern decree of Fate; 

Can ever undo what His hand has done, 

And, quite alone, make happy either one. 

My Helen is an only child ;— a pet 

Of loving parents : and she never yet 

Has been denied one boon for which she pleaded. 

A fragile thing, her lightest wish was heeded. 

Would she pluck roses > They must first be shorn 

By careful hands, of every hateful thorn. 

And loving eyes must scan the pathway where 

Her feet may tread, to see no stones are there. 

She'll grow dull here, in this secluded nook 

Unless you aid me in the pleasant task 

Of entertaining. Drop in with your book — 

Read, talk, sing for her sometimes. What I ask, 

Do once, to please me : then there'll be no need 

For me to state the case again, or plead. 

There's nothing like a woman's grace and beauty 

To waken mankind to a sense of duty." 



If 

\i 



" I bow before the mandate of my queen'. 
Your slightest wish is law. Ma Belle Maurine," 



JIl 



MAURINE 






He answered, smiling, " I'm at ynur cnmmand ; 
Point but one lliy finger, or your wa.id, 
And you will find a willing slave obeying. 
There goes my dinner bell ! I hear it saying 
I've spent two hours here, lying at your feet, 
Not profitable, maybe — surely sweet. 
All time is money ; now were I to measure 
The time I spend here by its solid pleasure. 
And that were coined in dollars, then I've laid 
Each day a fortune at your feet, fair maid 
There goes that bell again ! I'll say good-bye, 
Or clouds will shadow my domestic sky. 
I'll come again, as you would have me do, 
And see your friend, while she is seeing you. 
That's like by proxy being at a feast j 
Uns.itisfactory, to say the least." 

He drew his fine shape up, and trod the land 
With kingly grace. Passing the g,-ite, his hand 
He lightly placed the garden wall upon, 
Leaped over like a Icopara, and was gone. 

And, going, took the brightness from the place, 
Yet left the June day with a sweeter grace, 
And my young soul, so steeped in happy dreams. 
Heaven itself seemed shown to me i.. gleams. 
There is a time with lover., when the heart 
First slowly rouses from its dreamless sleep, 



MAURINE 



3'J 



To all the tumult of a passion life, 

Ere yet have wakened jealousy and strife. 

Just as a young, untutored child will start 

Out of a long hour's slumber, sound and deep, 

And lie and smile with rosy lips and cheeks, 

In a fweet, restful trance, before it speaks. 

A time when yet no word the spell has broken. 

Save what the heart unto the soul has spoken, 

In quickened throbs, and sighs but half suppressed 

A time when that sweet truth, all unconfcssed, 

Gives added fragrance to the summer flowers, 

A golden glory to the passing hours, 

A hopeful beauty to the plainest face, 

And lends to life a new and tender grace. 

When the full heart has climbed the heights of bliss, 

And smiling, looks back o'er the golden past, 

I think it finds no sweeter hour than this 

In all love-life. For, later, when the last 

Translucent drop o'crflows the cup of joy. 

And love, more mighty than the heart's control, 

Surges in words of passion from the soul. 

And vows are asked and given, shadows rise 

Like mists before the sun in noonday skies. 

Vague fears, that prove the brimming cup's alloy ; 

A dread of change — the crowning moment's curse, 

Since what is perfect, change but renders worse : 

A vain desire to cripple Time, who goes 

Bearing our joys away, and bringing woes. 



3H 



MAURINE 



■M 



■ I 

! 



W 



And later, doubts and jealousies awaken, 

And plighted hearts are tempest-tossed and shaken. 

Doubt sends a test, that goes a step too far, 

A wound is made, that, healing, leaves a scar, 

Or one heart, full with love's sweet satisfaction, 

Thinks truth once spoken always understood, 

While one is pining for the tender action 

And whispered word by which, of old, 'twas wooed. 

But this blest hour, in love's glad, golden day, 
Is like the dawning, ere the radiant ray 
Of glowing Sol has burst upon the eye, 
But yet is heralded in earth and sky. 
Warm with its fervour, mellow with its light. 
While Care still slumbers in the arms of night. 
But Hope, awake, hears happy birdlings sing, 
And thinks of all a summer day may bring. 

In this sweet calm, my young heart lay at rest. 
Filled with a blissful ?ensc of peace ; nor guessed 
Tl-it sullen cloudi were gathering in the skies 
To hide the glorious sun, ere it should rise. 

PART II 

To little birds that never tire of humming 
About the garden in the summer weather, 
Aunt Ruth compared us, after Helen's coming, 
Ai we two roamed, or sat and talked together. 



3'5 



MACRINE 

Twelve months apart, we h»(? io much to lay 
Of school days gone — and tine since passed away ; 
Of that old friend, and this ; of what we'd done ; 
Of how our separate paths in life had run ; 
Of what we would do, in the coming years ; 
Of plans and castles, hopes and dreams and fears. 
All these, and more, as soon as we found speech. 
We touched upon, and skimmed from this 'o th^t. 
But at the first each only gazed on each, 
And, dumb with joy, that did not need a voice 
Like lesser joys, to say, "Lo ! I rejoice," 
With smiling eyes and clasping hands we sat 
Wrapped in that peace, felt but with those der.r, 
Contented just to know each other near. 
But when this silent eloquence gave place 
To words, 'twas like the rising of a flood 
Above a dam. We sat there, face to face, 
And let our talk glide on whcrc'.;r it would. 
Speech never halting in its speed or zest, 
Save when our rippling laughter let it rest ; 
Just as a stream will sometimes pause and play 
About a bubbling spring, then dash away. 
No wonder, then, the third day's sun was nigh 
Up to the zenith when my friend and I 
Opened our eyes from slumber long and deep : 
Nature demanding recompense for hours 
Spent in the portico, among the flowers. 
Halves of two nights we should have spent 
sleep. 



3i6 



MAURINE 



■ ft 



So this third day, we brealtfastcd at one : 
Then walked about the garden in the sun, 
Hearing the thrushes and the robins sing, 
And looking to see what buJs were opening. 

The clock chimed three, and we yet strayed at will 

About the yard In morning dishabille, 

When Aunt Ruth came, with apron o'er her head, 

Holding a letter in her hand, and said, 

" Here is a note, Trom Vivian I opine j 

At least his servant brought it. And now, girls, 

Vou may think this is no concern of mine, 

But in my day young ladies did not go 

Till almost bed-time roaming to and fro 

In morning wrappers, and with tangled curls. 

The very pictures of forlorn distress. 

'Tis three o'clock, and time for you to dress. 

Come ! read your note and hurry in, Maurine, 

And make yourself fit object to be seen." 



m, 



wm 






Helen was bending o'er an almond bush, 
And ere she looked up I had read the note. 
And calmed my heart, that, bounding, sent a flush 
To brew and cheek, at sight of aught h wrote 
" Ma Belle Maurine ;" (so Vivian's billet ran,) 
" Is it not time I saw your cherished guest .> 
' Pity the sorrows of a poor young man,' 
Banished from all that makes existence blest. 



MAURINE 

I'm dying to see — your friend ; and I will comt 
A id pa) respects, hoping you'll be at home 
To-night at eight. Expectantly, V. D." 



3«7 



ill 



Inside my belt I slipped the billet, saying, 
" Helen, go make yourself most fair to see : 
Quick I hurry now I no time for more delaying I 
In just five hours a caller will be here. 
And you must look your prettiest, my dear ! 
Begin your toilet right away. I know 
How long it takes you to arrange each bow — 
To twist each curl, and loop your skirts aright. 
And you must prove you are au fait to-night, 
And make a perfect toilet: for our caller 
Is man, and critic, poet, artist, scholar, 
And views with eyes of all." 

"Oh, oh! Maurine," 
Cried Helen with a well-feigned look of fear, 
" You've frightened me so I shall not appear : 
I'll hide away, refusing to be seen 
By such an ogre. Woe is me ! bereft 
Of all my friends, my peaceful home I've left. 
And strayed away into the dreadful wood 
To meet the fate of poor Red Riding Hood. 
No, Maurine, no! you've given me such a fright, 
I'll not go near your ugly wolf to-night." 
Meantime we'd left the garden ; and I itood 



3>« 



MAL'RINE 



In Hctcn'8 room, where •■h<: hsJ thrown her.clf 

Upon a couch, and lay, a winsome elf, 

Pouting and smiling, .! eek upon her arm, 

Not in the least a portrait of alarm. 

"Now, sweet !" I coaxed, and knelt by her, " be good ! 

Go curl your hair ; and please your own Maurine, 

By putting on that lovely grenadine. 

Not woli, nor ogre, neither Caliban, 

Nor Mephistophelcs, you'll meet to-night, 

But what the lad; 's call ' a nice young man ' I 

^et one worth knowing— strong with health and might 

Of perfect manhood ; gifted, noble, wise ; 

Moving among his kind with loving eyes. 

And helpful hand j progressive, brave, refined. 

After the image of his Maker's mind." 






" Now, now, Maurine !" cried Helen, " I believe 

It is your lover coming here this eve. 

Why have you never written of him, pray ? 

Is the d.-iy set .'—and when ? Say, Maurine, say !" 

Had I betrayed by some too fervent word 

The secret love that all my being stirred ? 

My lover ? Ay '• My heart proclaimed him so j 

But first Sis lips must win the sweet confession, 

Ere even Helen be allowed to know. 

I must straightway erase the slight impression 

Made by the words just uttered. 



MAUUINE 



3"; 



' FimliBh child 1" 



I gaily 



cried, " your t'lucy'j siraying »ii 



Just let a {;irl of eighlecii htur the name 
Of maid and youth uttered about one lime, 
A'ld off her fancy goes, at breai^-necli pace, 
I)cj\ing circumstances, reason, jpacc — 
And straightway builds romancci so sublime 
'I^hey put all Slia'.cspcarc's dramas to the sl'.ainc. 
This Vivian Daiigcrtield is ncis'.bour, frieml, 
And Icind companion ; bringing books and floucrs. 
And, by his tlioughtful actions without end, 
Helping me pass some otherwise long hours j 
But he has never breathed a word of love. 
If you still doubt me, listen while I prove 
My statement by the letter that he wrote. 
' Dying to meet — my friend !' (she could not rce 
The dash between that meant so much to nic), 
'Will come this eve, at eight, and hopes we may 
Be in to greet him.' Now I think you'll say 
'Tis not much like a lover's tender note." 



We laugh, we jest, not meaning what we say ; 

We hide our thoughts, by li^ht words lightly spoken. 

And pass on heedless, till we find one day 

They've bruised our hearts, or left some other broken. 



I sought my room, and trilling some blithe air. 
Opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. 



310 



MAURINE 



Momentoui question I femininely humint 

More thin •!! othen, vexing mind of womin, 

Since that tad day, when in her discontent, 

To Kirch for leivei, cur fair first mother went. 

All undecided what I should put on. 

At length I made selection of a lawn — 

White, with a tiny pink vine overrun — 

My simplest robe, but Vivian's favourite one. 

And placing a single flow'ret in my hair, 

I crossed the hall to Helen's chamber, where 

I found her with her fair locks all let down, 

I'rushing the kinb out, with / pretty frown, 

Twas like a picture, or a pleasing play. 

To witch her make her toilet. She would stand, 

And turn her head first this, and then that way, 

Trying effect of ribbon, bow or band. 

Then she would pick up something else, and curve 

Her lovely neck, with cunning, bird-like grace. 

And watch the mirror while she put it on, 

With such a sweetly grave and thoughtful face ; 

And then to view it all would sway and swerve 

Her lithe young body, like a graceful swan. 



Helen was over medium height, and slender 

Even to frailty. Her great, wistful eyci 

Were like the deep blue of autumnal skies ; 

And through themlookedhcrsoul,!argc,Ioving, tender. 



\ 



MAURINE 



3«« 



Her long, light hair was Iu5tr->M, except 
Upaii the ends, where buriiishcJ siml.cainj s!cpt. 
And on the earl,, k, ; and she looped the turis 
Hack with a shell comb, studded thick with pearls, 
Coitly yet simple. Her pale lovelincs>, 
That night, was heightened by her rich, black dress, 
That trailed behind her, leaving half in iight 
Her taper arms, and shoulders marble white. 



ndcr. 



I was nri': t.ill as Helen, and my face 

Was shaped and coloured like my grandsire's race ; 

for through his veins my own received the warm, 

Red blood of Southern France, wh.h curved my form. 

And glowed upon my cheek in crimson dyes, 

And bronzed my hair, and darUcd in my eyes. 

And as the morning trails the skirts nl night. 

And dusky night puts on the garb of morn, 

And walk togetlicr when the day is born. 

So we two glided down the hall and stair, 

Arm clasping arm, into the parlour, where 

Sat Vivian, bathed in sunset's gorgeous light. 

He rose to greet us. Oh ! his form was grand ; 

And he possessed that power, strange, occult, 

Called magnetism, lacking better word, 

Which moves the world, achieving great result 

Where genius fails completely. Touch his hand. 

It thrilled through all your being — meet his eye, 

And you were moved, yet knew not how, or why. 



3" 



MAURINE 



I,et him but rUe, you felt tlie air was stirred 
By an elcctiic current. 

This strange force 
Is mightier than genius. Rightly used, 
It leads to grand achievements ; all things yield 
Before its mystic presence, and its field 
Is broad as earth and heaven. But abused, 
It sweeps iike a poison simoon on its course, 
Bearing miasma in its scorching brcith, 
And leaving all it touches struck with death. 

Far-reaching science shall yet far away 
The mystic garb that hides it from the day, 
And drag it forth and bind it with its laws. 
And make it serve the purposes of men. 
Guided by common-sense and reason. Then 
We'll hear no more of seance, table-rapping, 
And all that trash, o'er which the world is gaping. 
Lost in effect, while science seeks the cause. 



I'i 



: 



Vivian was not conscious of his power : 

Or, if he was, knew not its full extent. 

He knew his glance would make a wild beast cower, 

And yet he knew not that his large eyes sent 

Into the heart of woman the same thrill 

That made the lion servant of his will. 

And even strong men felt it. 



M". 



MAURINE 



j»3 



He arose, 
Reached forth his hand, and in it clasped my own. 
While I held Helen's ; and he spoke some word 
Of pleasant greeting in his low, round tone, 
Unlike all other voices I have heard. 

Just as the white cloud, at the sunrise, glows 
With roseate colours, so the pallid hue 

Of Helen's cheek, like tinted sca-shells grew. 

Through mine, his hand caused hers to tremble ; sue 

Was the all-mast'ring magic of his touch. 

Then we sat down, and talked about the weatlicr, 

The neighbourhood — some author's last new buuk. 

But, when I could, I left the two together 

To make acquaintance, saying I must look 

After the chickens — my especial care ; 

And r-.a away and left them, laughing, there. 



Knee-deep, through clover, to the poplar grove, 
I waded, where my pets were wont to rove : 
And there I found the foolish mother hen 
Brooding her chickens underneath a tree. 
An easy prey for foxes. " Chick-a-dee," 
Quoth I, while reaching for the downy things 
rhit, chirping, peeped from out the mother-wings, 
" How very human is your folly ! When 
There waits a haven, pleasant, bright, and warm, 
And one to lead you thither frojn the storm 



IR 



li.' -I 



3H 



MAURINE 



And lurking dangers, yet you turn away, 

And, thinking to be your own protector, stray 

Into the open jaws of death : for, see ! 

An owl i> sitting in this very tree 

You thought safe shelter. Go now to your pen." 

And, followed by the clucking, clamorous hen, 

So like the human mother here again, 

Moaning because a strong, protecting arm 

Would shield her little ones from cold and harm, 

I carried back my garden hat brimful 

Of chirping chickens, like white balls of wool 

And snugly housed them. 

And just then I heard 
A sound like gentle winds among the trees, 
Or pleasant waters in the summer, stirred 
And set in motion by a passing breeze. 
'Twas Helen singing : and, as I drew near, 
Another voice, a tenor full and clear, 
Mingled with hers, as nrirmuring streams unite, 
And flow on stronger in their wedded might. 



It was a way of Helen's, not to sing 

The songs that other people sang. She took 

Sometimes an extract from an ancient book ; 

Again some floating, fragmentary thing. 

And such she fitted to old melodies. 

Or else composed the music. One of thest 



MAURINE 



3'5 



She sanj that night j and Vivian caught the strain, 
And joined her in the chorus, or ref ain, 



SONG. 
Oh thou, mine other, stronger part ! 
Whom yet I cannot hear, or see. 
Come thou, anil take this loving heart, 
That loiigs to yield its all to thee, 
I call mine own — oh, tome j me I 
Love, answer hack, I come to thee, 

I come to thee, 

This hungry heart, so warm, so large, 

Is far too great a c.ire for me, 
I have grown wcaiy of the charge 

I keep so sacredly for thee. 

Come thou, and lake my heart from nie. 

Love, answer back, I come to thee, 

I come to thee. 

I am a-weary, waiting here 

For one who tarries long for me. 
Oh ! art thou far, or art thou near i 
And must I still be sad for thee I 
Or wilt thou straightway come to me f 
Love, answer, I am near to thee, 

I come to thee. 
The melody, so full of plaintive chords, 
Sobbed into silence— echoing down the strings 
Like voice of one who walks from us, and sings. 
Vivian had leaned upon the instrument 



His*: 



'If';* 



316 



MAURINE 



The while they sang. But, as he spoke those won't, 

" Love, I am near to thee, I come to thee," 

He turned his grand head slowly round, and bent 

His lustrous, soulful, speaking gaze on me. 

And my young heart, eager to own its king, 

Sent to my eyes a great, glad, trustful light 

Of love and faith, and hung upon my cheek 

Hope's rose-hued flag. There was no need to speak. 

I crossed the room, and knelt by Helen. " Sing 

That song you sang a fragment of one night 

Out on the porch, beginning, ' Praise me not,'" 

I whispered : and her sweet and plaintive tone 

Rose, low and tender, as if she had caught 

From some sad passing breeze, and made her own, 

The echo of the wind-harp's sighing strain, 

Or the soft music of the falling rain. 



m 



ii! 



SONG. 

O praise me not with your lipi, dear on« ! 

Though your teiider words I prize. 
But dearer by far is the soulful gaze 

Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes. 
Your tender, loving eyes. 

O chide me not with your lips, dear one I 
Though I cause your bosom sighs. 

You can make repentance deeper far 
By your sad, reproving eyes. 

Your sorrowful, troubled eye». 



MAURINIi 

VV..r.ls, at the I er.t, are In.t hollow soun Is ■ 

Above, ill the bcaniin- skies, 
The const.mt stars say iievir a word, 

But only smile with their eves 

Smile on with their lustrous cyei 



3^7 



Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear oiiej 

On the wingid wiiul speech flies. 
But I read the truth of your noble heart 

In your soulful, speaking eyes— 

In your deep and beautiful eyes. 



The twilight darkened, round us, in the room, 
While Helen sang ; and, in the gathering gloom, 
Vivian reached out, and took my hand in his, 
And held it so ; while Helen made the air 
Languid with music, -l-hen a step drew near, 
And voice of Aunt Ruth broke the spell : 

WL .. "Dear! dca 

Why, Maurie, Helen, children I how is this i 
I hear you, but you have no light in there. 
Your room is dark as Egypt. What a way 
For folks to visit ! Maurie, go, I pray, 
And order lamps." 

And so there came a light. 
And all the sweet dreams hovering around 
The twilight shadows flitted in affright : 
And e'en the music had a harsher sound. 



,28 



MAURIXK 



111 pleasant converse ;-a5-,ed an hour au-.iy : 

And Vivian planned a picnic for next J.ij-— 

A drive the next, and rambles without end, 

That he might help me entertain my friend. 

And then he rose, bowed low, and passed from fight, 

Lil;c some great star that drops out from the night ; 

And Helen watched him through the shadows go, 

And turned and said, her voice subdued and low, 

"How tall he is ! in all my life, Maurine, 

A grander man I never yet have seen." 



PART III 

One golden twelfth-part of a checkered year ; 
One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth, 
With not a hint of shadows lurking near, 
Or storm-clouds brewing. 

'Twas a royal day : 
Voluptuous July held her lover, Earth, 
With het warm arms, upon her glowing breast, 
And twined herself about him, as he lay 
Smiling and panting in his dream-stirred rest. 
She bound him with her limbs of perfect grace. 
And hid him with her trailing robe of green, 
And wound him in her long hair's shimmering sheen. 
And rained her ardent kisses on his face. 
Through the glad glory of the summer land 
Helen and I went wandering, hand in htnd. 



fight, 
;ht J 



th, 



MAURINE 

In winding paths, hard by the ripe whcai-fiL-Id, 
White with the promise of a bounteous yield, 
Across the late shorn mcajnw— down the hill, 
Red with the tiger-lily blossoms, till 
We stood upon the borders of the lake, 
That like a pretty, placid infant, slept 
Low at its base : and little ripples crept 
Along its surface, just as dimples chase 
Each other o'er an infant's sleeping face. 
Helen in idle hours had learned to make 
A thousand pretty, feminine knick-knacks : 
For brackets, ottomans, and toilet stands- 
Labour just suited to her dainty hands. 
That morning she had been at work in wax, 
Moulding a wreath of flowers for my room- 
Taking her patterns from the living blows, 
In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom. 
Fresh from my garden. Fuchsia, tulip, rose. 
And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch. 
Resembling the living plants as much 
As life is copied in the form of death : 
These lacking but the perfume, and that, breath. 



.^-9 






sheen, 



And now the wreath was all completed, save 
The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom, 
A water lily, dripping from the wave. 
And 'twas in search of it that we had come 
Down to the laU, and wandered oa tlie bc«ch. 



> I 



ii 



330 



MAURI NE 



To see if any lilies grew in reach. 

Some broken stalks, where flo'vers late had been ; 

Some buds, with all their beauties folded in, 

We found, but not the treasure that we sought. 

And then we turned our footsteps to the spot 

Where, all impatient of its chain, my boat. 

The SwM, rocked, asking to be set afloat. 

It was a dainty row-boat— strong, yet light ; 

Each side a swan was painted snowy white : 

A present from my uncle, just before 

He sailed, with Death, to that mysterious strand. 

Where freighted ships go sailing evermore, 

But none return to tell us of the land. 

I freed the Swan, and slowly rowed about. 

Wherever sea-weeds, grass, or green leaves lifted 

Their tips above the water. So we drifted, 

While Helen, opposite, leaned idly out 

And watched for lilies in the waves below, 

And softly crooned some sweet and dreamy air, 

That soothed me like a mother's lullabies. 

I dropped the oars, and closed my sun-kissed eyes. 

And let the boat go drifting here and there. 

Oh, happy day 1 The last of that brief time 

Of thoughtless youth, when all the world seems bright. 

Ere that disguised angel men called Woe 

Leads the sad heart through valleys dark as night, 

Up to the heights exalted and sublime. 

On each blest, happy moment, I am fain 



1-11 i 



MAURINE 

To linger long, ere I pass on to pain 
And lorrow tlut succeeded. 



J3« 



From day-dreams, 
As golden as the summer noontide's beams, 
I was awakened by a voice that cried : 
" Strange ship, ahoy ! Fair frigate, whither bound !" 
And, starting up, I cast my g.ize around, 
And saw a sail-boat o'er the water glide 
Close to the Sitmit, like some live thing of grace ; 
And from it looked the glowing, handsome fate 
Of Vivian. 



ight, 



" Beauteous sirens of the sea, 
Come sail across the raging main with me !" 
He laughed ; and leaning, drew our drifting boat 
Beside his own. " There, now ! step in !" he said ; 
" I'll land you anywhere you want to go-^ 
My boat is safer far than youn, I know : 
And much more pleasant with its sails all spread. 
The Swan f We'll take the oars, and let it float 

Ashore at leisure. You, Maurine, sit there 

Miss Helen here. Ye gods and little fishes I 

I've reached the height of pleasure, and my wishei. 

Adieu despondency I fareweil to care !" 

'Twaa done so quickly : that was Vivian's way. 
He did not wait for either yea or nay. 






a* 



MAURINE 



He give commanJj, ar' left you with no choice 

But just to do the bidding of his voice. 

His rare, kind smile, low tones, and manly face 

Lent to his quicli imperiousness a grace 

And winning charm, completely stripping it 

Of what might otherwise have seemed unfit. 

Leaving no trace of tyranny, but just 

That nameless force that seemed to say, " You must.' 

Suiting its pretty title of the 'Datvn, 

(So named, he said, that it might rhyme with S«w.) 

Vivian's sail-boat was carpeted with blue. 

While all its sails were of a pale rose hue. 

The daintiest craft that flirted with the breeze ; 

A poet's fancy in an hour of ease. 



m 



h*; 



Whatever Vivian had was of the '- : t. 

His room was like some Sultan's in the East. 

His board was always spread as for a feast, 

Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest. 

He would go hungry sooner than lic'd dine 

At his 0- n table if 'twere illy set. 

He so loved things artistic in design — 

Order and beauty, all about him. Yet 

So kind he was, if it befell his lot 

To dine within the humble peasant's cot, 

He made it seem his naiivc soil to be. 

And thui displayed the true gentility. 



ttiii 



MAURINE 53; 

UnJer the rosy banners of the 'litttm. 
Around the lake we dril'tcd nn, and on. 
It was a time for dreams, and not for ipce^li. 
And 80 we floated on in silence, each 
Weaving the fancies suiting such a day. 
Helen leaned idly o'er the s-iil-boat's side, 
And dipped her rosy fingers in the tii'c ; 
And I among the cushions half reclined. 
Half sat, and watched the fleecy clouds at play. 
While Vivian with his blank-book, oppoiite. 
In which he seemed to either sketch or wriic, 
Was lost in inspiration of some kind. 

No time, no change, no scene, can e'er efiace 
My mind's impression of that hour and place ; 
It stands out like a picture. O'er the years. 
Black with their ropes of sorrow — veiled with tc:irs 
Lying with all their lengthened shades between, 
Untouched, undimmed, I still behold that scone. 
Just as the last of Indian-summer days, 
Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze, 
Followed by dark and desolate December, 
Through all the months of winter we remember. 



The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change 
Which creeps into the air, and speaks of nijjht 
While yet the day is full of golden light, 
We felt steal o'er us. 



JH 



MAURINE 




li 



i 



ii m 






t j 



.<' 



Vivian bioke the ipc!) 
Of dream-ft«ught iller^ , throwing down hi» book : 
" Young ladies, please allow me to arrange 
Thete h,t.i5- about your shoulders. I know well 
The fickle nature of our atmosphere — 
Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear — 
And go prepared for changes. Now you look, 
Like — like — oh, whcre't a pretty simile ? 
Had you a pocket mirror here you'd see 
How well my native talent is displayed 
In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid ; 
Blue on the blonde — and quite without design 
(Oh, where /'/ that comparison of mine f) 
Well — like a June rose and a violet blue 
In one bouquet ! I fancy that will do. 
And now I crave your patience and a boon. 
Which it to listen, while I read my rhyme, 
A floating fancy of the summer time. 
Tis neither witty, wonderful, nor wise, 
So listen kindly — but don't criticise 
My maiden effort of the afternoon ; 

" If all the (hips I have at tea 
Should come a-sailing home to me, 
Ah, well I the harbour could not hold 
So many tailt at there would be 
If all my ships came in from tea. 

" If half my sliipi cime home from sea. 
And biought their precious freight to me, 



MAURINE 

All, well I I ihnuld h«ve weilili ai greae 
Ai any king nlm >iii in lute — 
So rich the treasinei that wouKl be 
In halt' my ihipt nc>w out at lea. 

" U juit one ihip I have tt tea 
Should come a-saillng home to me, 
Ah, well I the ttorm-cloudi then might froivii ■ 
For if the otheri all went down 
Still rich and proud and gl.id I'd be 
If that one ihip came back to me. 

"If that one ihip went ilonn at lea, 
And all the othen came to mf. 
Weighed down with gemi and wealth untold, 
With glory, honour, richei, golil. 
The poofi tt soul on earth I'd be 
If that one >hip came not to me. 

" ikiet be calm I O windi blow free- 
Blow all my ahipi wfe home to me. 
But if thou sende»t tome a.wrack 
To never more come lailing back. 
Send any— all that ikim the sea. 
But bring my love-«hip home to me." 

Helen was leaning by me, and her head 

Rested against my ahoulder : as he read, 

I stroked her hair, and watched the Heecy skiej, 

And when he finished, did not turn my eye«. 

I felt too happy and too shy to meet 

His gaze just then. I said, " 'Ti» very iweet. 



335 



n 






336 



MAURINE 



And suits the day ; docs it not, Helen, dear ?" 

But Helen, voiceless, did not seem to hear. 

" 'Tis strange," I added, " how you poets sing 

So feelingly about the very thing 

You care not for ! and dress up an ideal 

So well, it looks a living, breathing real I 

Now, to a listener, your love song seemed 

A heart's out-pouring ; yet I've heard you say 

Almost the opposite ; or that you deemed 

Position, honour, glory, power, fame. 

Gained without loss of conscience or good name, 

The things to live for." 

" Have you ? Well, you may," 
Lsughed Vivian, " but 'twas years— or months ago ! 
And Solomon says wise men change, you know 1 
I now speak truth I if she I hold most dear 
Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, 
My heart would find the years more lonely here 
Than if I were of wealtii, fame, friends, bereft. 
And sent, an exi''-, to a foreign land." 
His voice was low, and measured : as he spoke. 
New, unknown chords of melody awoke 
Within my soul. I felt my heart expand 
With that sweet fulness born of love. I turned 
To hide the blushes on my cheek that burned. 
And leaning over Helen, breathed her name. 
She lay so motionless 1 thought she slept : 
But, as I spoke, I saw her eyes unclose. 



MAUklNE 



$37 



And o'er her face a sudden glory swept, 

And a slight tremor thrilled all through her frame. 

" Sweet friend," I said, " your face is full of light : 

What were the dreams that made your eyes so bright .•" 

She only smiled for answer, and arose 

From her reclining posture at my side, 

Threw back the clust'ring ringlets from her face 

With a quick gesture, full of easy grace, 

And, turning, spol;e to Vivian. "Will you guide 

The boat up near that little clump of green 

Off to the - ght ? There's where the lilies grow. 

We quite forgot our errand here, Maurine, 

And our few moments have grown into hours. 

What will Aunt Ruth think of our ling'ring so? 

There — that will do — now I can reach the flowers." 



"Hark! just hear that I" and Vivian broke forth 

singing, 
"'Row, brothers, row.' The six o'clock bell's 

ringing ! 
Who ever knew three hours to go so fast 
In all the annals of the world, before f 
I could have sworn not over one had passed. 
Young ladies, I am forced to go ashore ! 
I thank you for the pleasure you have given ; 
This afternoon has been a glimpse of heaven. 
Good-night — sweet dreams ! and by your graciout 

leave, 
111 pay my compliments to-morrow eve." 



338 



MAURINE 



A smile, a bow, and he had gone his way : 

And, in the waning glory of the day, 

Down cool, green lanes, and through the length'ning 

shadows, 
Silent, we wandered back across the meadows. 
The wreath was finished, and adorned my room ; 
Long afterward, the lilies' copied bloom 
Was like a' horrid spectre in my sight, 
Staring upon me morning, noon, and night. 

The sun went down. The sad new moon rose up, 
And passed before me like an empty cup, 
The Great Unseen brims full of pain or bliss. 
And gives His children, saying, " Drink of this." 



LlJi. 



A light wind, from the open casement, fanned 
My brow and Helen's, as we, hand in hand, 
Sat looking out upon the twilight scene. 
In dreamy silence. Helen's dark-blue eyes. 
Like two lost stars that wandered from the skies 
Some night adown the meteor's shining track. 
And always had been grieving to go back. 
Now gazed up, wistfully, at heaven's dome, 
And seemed to recognise and long for home. 
Her sweet voice broke the silence : "Wish, Maurine, 
Before you speak ! you know the moon is new, 
And anything you wish for will come true 



MA URINE 



339 






Before it wanes. I do believe the sign I 

Now tell me your wish, and I'll tell you mine." 

I turned and looked up at the slim young moon ; 

And, with an almost superstitious heart, 

I sighed, " Oh, new moon ! help me, by thine art. 

To grow all grace and goodness, and to be 

Worthy the love a true heart proffers me." 

Then smiling down, I said, " Dear one 1 my boon, 

1 fear, is quite too silly or too sweet 

For my repeating : so we'll let it stay 

Between the moon and me. But if I may 

I'll listen now to your wish. Tell me, please 1" 

All suddenly she nestled at my feet, 
And hid her blushing face upon my knees. 
Then drew my hand against her glowing cheek 
And, leaning on my breast, began to speak. 
Half sighing out the words my toriured car 
Reached down to catch, while striving not to hear. 

"Can you not guess who 'twas about, Maurine.' 
Oh, my sweet friend I you must ere this have seen 
The love I tried to cover from all eyes 
And from myself. Ah, foolish little heart ! 
As well it might go seeking for some art 
Whereby to hide the sun in noonday skies. 
When first the strange sound of his voice I heard 
Looked on his noble face, and touched his hand, ' 







340 



MAURINE 



My slumb'ring hc,;rt thrilled through and through 

and stirred 
Aj if to say, ' I hear, and understand.' 
And day by day mine eyes were blest beholding 
The inner beauty o* his life, unfolding 
In countless words and actions that portrayed 
The oble stuff of which his soul was made. 
And more and more 1 felt my heart upreaching 
Toward the truth, drawn gently by liis teaching. 
As flowers are dr.iwn by sunlight. And there grew 
A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew 
At length was love, because it was so sad 
And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad, 
Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame, 
Lest all should read my secret and its name, 
I strove to hide it in my breast away, 
Where God could see it only. But each day 
It seemed to grow within me, and would rise. 
Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes, 
Defying bonds of silence ; and would speak, 
In its red-lettered language, on my cheek. 
If but his name was uttered. You were kind. 
My own Maurine I as you alone could be. 
So long the sharer of my heart and mind, 
While yet you saw, in seeming not to see. 
In all the years we have been friends, my own, 
And loved as women very rarely do. 
My heart no sorrow and no joy has known 



ugh 



MAURINE 

It has not shared at once, in full, with you. 
And I so longed to speak to j-ou of this, 

VV hen first 1 felt it, mingled pain and bli.s; 

Yet dared no,, Ics, you, knowing him, should say, 

In pity for my folly-. Lack-a-day ! 

You are undone : because no mortal art 

Can win the love of such a lofty heart.' 

And so I waited, silent and in pain. 

Till I could know I did not love in vain 

And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear. 

Did he not say, 'Ifshe I hold most dear 

S .pped from my life, and no least hope were left. 

My heart would find the years more lonely here 

Than .f I were of wealth, fame, friend,, bereft 

And sent, an exile, to a foreign land ' } 

Oh, darling, you must Atv to understand 

The joy that thrilled all through me at those words. 

It was as ifa thousand singing birds 

W.thin my heart broke forth in notes or praise 

Idid not look up, but I knew his gaze 

Was on my face, and that his eyes must see 

1 he joy I felt almost transfigured me 

He loves me-loves me ! so the birds kept singing. 

And al, my soul with tha. sweet strain is ringing 
Ifthere were added but one drop of bliss. 
No niore my cup would hold : and so, this eve 
I made a wish that J might feel hi, kiss 
Upon my hps, ere yon pale moon should leave 



34« 



34* 



MAURINE 



The stars all lonely, having waned away. 

Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay." 

Her voice Mi-hcd in silence. WhI'e she spo' e 
My heart writhed in me. rrayii'.); she wou'.d ceaie— 
Each word she uttered tailing Ui-c a slrole 
On my bare soul. And now a hu^h like death. 
Save that 'twa» broken by a quick-drawn breath, 
Fell 'round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace. 
For when the lash no longer leaves its blows, 
The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows. 





She nestled on my bosom like a child. 

And 'neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild 

With pain and pity. She had told her tale— 

Her seli-dccciviiig story to the end. 

How could I look down on her as she lay 

So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail— 

A tender blossom on my breast, and say, ^ 

«Nay you are wrong— you do ml-.take, dear frien.l . 

•Tis I'am loved, not you " ? Yet that were truth, 

And she must know it later. 

Should I speak, 

And spread a ghastly pallor o'er the cheek 

Flushed now with joy ? And while I, doubfng, 

pondered. 
She spoke again. " Maurine ! I oft have wondered 



a:aurine 



343 



Why you and Vivian were not lovers. He 
Is all a heart could asic its Icing to be ; 
And you have beamy, intelluxt und youth. 
r think it strange you have not 1 ,vcd each other- 
Strange how he could pass by you for anoihcr 
Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know 
A loving Father pre-arranged it so. 
I think my heart has Icnown him all these vears, 
And waited for him. And if when he came 
It had been as a lover of my friend, 
I should have recognised him, all the same. 
As my soul-mate, and loved him to the end, 
Hiding my grief, and forcing back my tears 
Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day, 
Unseen they fell, and wore it all aw.iy. 
And so a render Father kept him free, 
With all the largeness of his love, for me— 
For me, unworthy such a precious gift ! 
Yet I will bend each effort of my life 
To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift 
My soul and spirit to his lofty lici^jht. 
So to deserve that holy name, his wife. 
Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight 
To breathe its long hid secret in your ear. 
Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear !" 



The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise 
To one great thwught of mighty sacrifice 



H4 



MAURINK 



:'t 



And self-denial. Oh ! it bI;ini.licJ my chcct, 
And wrung my soul ; and from my heart it drove 
All life and feeling. Cow.ird-Iil;e, I strove 
To send it from me ; but I felt it cling 
And hold fast on my mind lite some live thing ; 
And all the Self within me felt its touch 
And cried, " No, no ! I cannot do so much — 
I am not, strong enough — there is no call.' 
And then the voice of Helen bade me sjiea!:. 
And with a calmness borne of nerve, I said, 
Scarce knowing what I uttered, " Sweetheaii, all 
Your joys and sorrows arc with mine own wed. 
I thanic you for your confidence, and pray 
I may deserve it always. But, dear one. 
Something — perhaps our bo.it-ridc in the sun — 
Has set my head to aching. I must go 
To bed directly ; and you will, I know, 
Grant me your pardon, and another day 
We'll talk of this together. Now good-night, 
And angels guard you with thoir wings of light." 

I kissed her lips, and held her on my "-nrt, 
And viewed her as I ne'er had done b. :. 
1 gazed upon her features o'er and o'er ; 
Marked her white, tender face — her fragile form. 
Like some frail plant that withers in the storm ; 
Saw she was fairer in her new-found joy 
Than e'er before ; and thought, " Can I destroy 



MAURINE 



God's handiwork, or leave 



34! 



it at the best 



oy 



A broken h.rp, while I close clasp my bliss >'• 
I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, 
And sought my room, and found there such r. lief 
As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief. 

The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, 
And left the stars to watch away the night. 
O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene > 
What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen ! 
The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow 
To grope alone in darkness till the morrow. 
The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise 
Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs ■ 
But from the early gloaming till the day 
Sends golden-liveried heralds forth to say 
He come, in might ; the patient stars shine on, 
Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn. 
And, as they shone upon Gcthscmane 
And watched the struggle of a God-like soul 
Now from the same far height they shone on me 
And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll. 

The storm had come upon me all unseen : 
No sound of thunder fell upon my ear j 
No cloud arose to tell me it was near; ' 
But under skies all sunlit, and serene,' 
I floated with the current of the stream. 



3+6 



MAURINE 



And thought life all one go1dcn-h»1oed dreim. 

When lo ! a hurricane, with awful force, 

Swept swift upon its devastating courfC, 

Wrecked my frail hark, and cast me on the wave 

Wlicrc all my hopes had found a su.lJen grave. 

Love makes us blind and selfish ; otherwise 

I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes j 

So used I was to reading every look 

In her swett face, as I would read a book. 

But now, made siglitlc:.s by love's blinding rays, 

I had gone on unseeing, to the end 

Where Pain dispelled the mist of golJen haze 

That walled me in, and lo ! I found my friend 

Who journeyed with me — at my very side — 

Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I, 

Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry. 

And then I sobbed, " O God ! I would have died 

To save her this." And as I cried in pain, 

There leaped forth from the still, white realm ol 

Thought 
Where Conscience dwells, that unimpassioncd spot 
As widely different from the heart's domain 
As north from south— the impulse felt before, 
And put away ; but now it ro.';e once more, 
In greater strength, and said, "Heart, wouldst thou 

prove 
What lips have uttered ? Then go, lay thy love 
On Friendship's altar, as thy olicnng." 



MAURINE J47 

"Nay I" cried my heart, " aik «ny other thing- 
Ask life itself — 'twere osier sacri/i c. 
But iik not love, for that I cannot give." 

" But," spoke the voire, " the meanest insect dies. 

And is no hero ! heroes dare to live 

When all that makes life sweet is snaiched auay." 

So with my heart, in converse, till the day. 

In gold and crimson billows, rose and broke. 

The voice of Conscience, all unwearied, spole. 

Love warred with hVicndship, heart with Conscience 

fought. 
Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not; 
And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness. 
Sighed, " Think how one, whose life thou wcrt to 

bless. 
Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear ! 
Wouldst thou woiiiui liim, to give thy friend relief? 
Can wrong make right ? 

" Nay !" Conscience said, " but Pride 
And Time can heal the sadJcst hurts of I.ove. 
While Friendship's wounds gipc wide and yet more 

wide. 
And bitter fountains of the spirit prove." 

At length, exhausted with the wearing strife, 

i cait the new-found burden of my life 

On God's broad bres:,t, and sough't tl.at deep repose 

That o.ily he who watched with sorrow knows. 



Hi 



S4« 



MAURINB 



PART IV 

"Maurine, Mauriiic, 'ti' ten o'clnc'^ ! arise, 
My pretty slugj-ard, open those lUrk eyes 
And tec where yonJer sun is 1 Do you kn'uv 
I made my toilet just four hours ago ?" 





1 


■ : 


NM| 


L 


n 



Twat Helen'l voice : and Helen's gentle kiss 
Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss, 
I drew my weary self from that stringc sleep 
That rests not nor refreshes. Scarce awake 
Or conscious, yet there seemed a heavy weight 
Bound on my breait, as by a cruel Fate. 
I knew not why, and yet I longed to weep. 
Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day ; 
And, for a moment, in that trance I lay, 
When suddenly the truth did o'er me break, 
Like some great wave upon a helpless child. 
The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife — 
The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild. 
And God gave back the burden of the life 
He kept what time I slumbered. 

" You are ill," 
Cried Helen, " with that blinding headache 5ti:i ! 
You look so pale and weary. Now let me 
Play nurse, Maurine, and care for you to-day I 
And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste, 
And bring it to you, with a cup of tea." 



MAURINE 



319 



And ofTihe ran, not wj'',iiig my reply- 
But, wanting most tin inshine an! the light, 
I left my couch, and dithcd mysdrin hs tc, 
And, lenecling, sent to CaJt an earnest cry 
For help and giii HULe. 

" ^hnvv Th' u r"e the way, 
Where duty le.i-ls, for I »■,; l.i^r ' -uv si);lit 
Obscured by leii. Oh, If. 1 my ste; s iright 1 
Help me lee the p;itli : .(,ia ifii m n-. 
Let this cup pass :— and <i, I'hou l.cjveily One, 
Thy will in all things, not mine own, iic done.'" 
Rising, I went upon my way, receiving 
The strength prayer gives alui; i to he.irts helieving. 
I felt that unseen hands were leading mr, 
And knew the end was peace. 

'■ What ! are you up •' 
Cried Helen, coming with a tray, and cup. 
Of tender toast and fragrant, smok ng to i. 
" You naughty girl I you should harj stayed in Led 
Until you ate your breakfast, arid were licttcr ; 
I've something hidden for you here — a letter. 
But drink your tea before you read it, dear ! 
'Tis from some distant cousin, auntie said, 
And so you need not hurry. Now be good, 
And mind your Helen." 



So, 



I laid the still unopened letter 
And loitered at my brea:,rai 



in passive mood, 



near. 



I 



t more to please 






3 so 



MAURINE 



Mv nurse, than any hunger to aprcasc. 
Then listlessly I broke the seal a.u read 
The few lines written in a bold tree hand. ^ 
Ixew London, Canada. Dear Coz. Maur.ne! 
(In spite ofgenerations stretched between 
Lr natural right to that mo. handy chtun 
Of cousin^hip, we'll use it all the same) 
m coming to see you, honestly, ,n truth! 

IVe threatened often-now I mean to act , 

You'll find my com.ng is a stubborn fact. 

Keep qmet.thou.h. ...a do not tell Aunt Ruth. 

Iwondcrifshe'lUnowherFttcdboy 
In .pite of changer ^ Look for me unt. 

.^U, As of old I'm still 
You sec me commt, as oi oi _ 

Your faithful friend, and loving cousin, Roy. 



So Roy was coming! He and 1 had pla>-ed 
As boy and girl, and later, youth and maid, 
J:u/alfocr.ivestogct,.er. He ad cc„. 
Like me, an orphan ;»"J 'he roof of Kin 

Oarboth kind shelter. Swift y«rs sped away 
Ere change W.IS felt :-d then one summer day 

A long-W. uncle sailcHrom India s snore- 
Made Koyhi» heir and he was ours no more. 



A)W-i 



• •ITc'J wiitc us I 
Once every >cai 



•y, a.d wc'i sec his face 
Such was his promise given 



MAURINE 



35> 



The morn he left. But now the years were seven 

Since last he looked upon the olJcn place. 

He'd been through college, travelled in all lands, 

Sailed over seas, and trod the desert sands. 

Would write and plan a visit, then, ere long, 

Would write again from Egypt, or Hong Kong — 

Some fancy called him thither unforeseen. 

So years had passed, till seven lay between 

His going and the coming of this note. 

Which I hid in my bosom, and replied 

To Aunt Ruth's queries, "What the truant wrote .'" 

By saying he was still upon the wing. 

And merely dropped a line, while journeying, 

To say he lived : and she was satisfied. 



Sometimes it happens, in this world so strange, 
A human heart will pass through mortal strife. 
And writhe in torture : while the old sweet lite, 
So full of hope and beauty, bloom and grace. 
Is slowly strangled by remorseless I'ain : 
And one stern, cold, relentless, takes its place— 
A ghastly, pallid SI cctre of the sluin. 
Yet those in daily converse see no change 
Nor dream the heart has suflercd. 

So that day 
I passed along toward the troubled way 
Stern duty pointed, and no mortal guessed 
A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast. 






a 



J5» 



MAURINE 



ili:^ 



I had resolved to yield up to my friend 

The roan I loved. Since ehe, too, loved him so 

I saw no other way in honour left. 

She was so weak and fragile, once bereft 

Of this great hope, that held her with such power. 

She would wilt down, like some frost-bitten flovv;r. 

And swift, untimely death would be the end. 

But I was strong ; and h,irdy plants, which grow 

In out-door soil, can bear bleak winds that blow 

From Arctic lands, whereof a single breath 

Would lay the hot-house blossom low in death. 

The hours went by, too slow, and yet too fast. 

All day I argued with my foolish lv«»rt 

That bade me play the shrinking coward's part 

And hide from pain. And w.Ken the day had 

past 
And lime for Vivian's call drew near »nd nearer, 
It plcalcJ, " Walt until the way seems clearer ; 
Say you are ill — or busy ; keep away 
Until you gather itrength enough to ^^ 
The part you have resolved on." 

" Sir, not so," 
Made answer clear-eyed Reason ; "do you go 
And put your rcsolui' jn to the test. 
Resolve, however nobly formed, .it best 
Is but a still-Iiorn babe of Thought until 
It proves ciiitcucc of its life and Mill 
By sound or action." 



MAURINE 

So H licii Helen came 
And knelt by rac, her fair face all aflame 
With sujden bluslit;', .vliispcring, " .My sweet ! 
My heart can hear the music of his feet, 
Go down with me to meet him," I arose, 
And went with her all calmly, as one goes 
To look upon the dear face ot the dead. 

Tlut eve I know not v>^hat I did or 5.iid. 

I was not cold — my manner was not strange ; 

Perchance I tailed more freely than my wo;it, 

But in my speech was naught could give affront ; 

Yet I conveyed, as only woman can, 

That nameless ssmttlins which bespeaks a chant;? 

Tis in the power of woman, if she be 

Whole-souled and noble, free from co4uetry 

Her motives all unselfish, worthy, good, 
To make herself and feelings understood 
By nameless acts, thus spariiig what to man, 
However gently answered, causes pain. 
The orfcriiig of his hand and heart in vain. 

She can be frieniKy, unrestrained and kiim 
Asiume no airs of pride or arrogance ; 
But in her voic*, her manner, and hergl.mce 
Convey that mystic something, undefined, 
Which men fail not to uu'erstand and read 
And, when not blind wit), egoism, heed. 



353 






35t 



MAUKINE 




My f.-rl VV..S harJ.c-'l'v.i the sIonv und.ihig 

Ot' ii i-g sweet m.mtlis of uiiinij cJcd »^joii.g. 

It uas to hiJe aiul cover anJ conceal 

The trut'i, assuming what I did not feel. 

It was to dam love's happy singing tide 

That hlc.icd me "iih its hopeful, tuneful tone 

By IcigneJ indilllrencc, till it turned aside 

And changed its channel, leaving me alone 

To wall< parched plains, and thirst for that sweet 

d. aught 
My lips had tasted, but another quaffed. 
It could be done, for no wor-ls yet were spoken— 
None to recall— no pledges to be broken. 
"He will be grieved, then angry, cold, then cross, 
I reasoned, thinking what would be his part 
In this strange dr.ima. " Then, because he 
Feels something lacking, to make good his loss 
He'll turn to Helen, and her gentle grace 
And loving acts will win her soon the place 
I hoi-* to-dav ; and like a troubled dream 
At length, .-r past, when he looks back, will seem.' 

That cveiiing passed with music, chat, and s.m-. 
But houR that once had flnwn on airy wiugs 
Now limt.d on wea.y, aching limbs along, 
Each moment like .omc dreaded step that bnngs 
A twinge of pain. 



^1 



MAURINE 



355 



As V 



Slow bending to me from In 
He took my hand, i-J, loo'.ing i 



VI. ;n ros; to go. 



With tend 
Said, " Ma 
Whu 



i-T quciti'jniiig and 



lined SI, 



, you are not \our-.cif tu iiijlu ; 



Arc 



you iiilii 



AilinK? X.. 



I ans.vcred, laughing lightly, " I am not ; 
Jujt see my checl;, .dr — u it thin, or pale i 



Now tell me, am I 1 



lo.j»ing verv frail ; 



'Nay, nay," he answered, "it 
The change I spcal; of — 'i 



cannot i e 'fi'/r. 



Pre 



lotcupation, or- 



was more in vuur niicii^ 
-I k.iow iit.t what ! 

, or doci Maiirine 



Mis.i Helen, am 1 wron 
Seem to liavc si,m;;thing on her mind this eve ? 
" She does," laughed Helen, "and I do believe 
I know what 'tis I A letter lame today 



Which she read slyly, and th 



Cloe to her hiart, no; knowing I 
And since she 



■n iiid away 



ig 1 was near, 



Sec how she hli] 
W 



'i been as wni have seen her hcie. 



so my random shn- 
c must believe has struck a tender spot. 



^iii 



Her rippling laughter floated through the room. 
And redder yet I felt the ho: blood rise, 
Then surge away, io leave me pale as death 
I'ndcr the dark and swiftly g.iihering gloom 



OfV 



H'.an 3 qjr.-ni >luag, accusing eyes, 



356 



MAURINE 



That searched my soul. I almost shrit-ked le;r.\nh 
That stern, fixed gaze, and stood spclllKHinJ until 
He turned with sudJcn movement, gave hii haiul 
To each in turn, and said : " You must not stand 
Longer, j-oung ladles, in this open door. 
The air is heavy with a cold, damp chill. 
We shall have rain to-morrow, or l.elbre. 
Good-night." 

He vanished in the darUi^ig shade ; 
And so the dreaded evening found an end. 
That saw me grasp the conscience-whetted blade. 
And strike a blow for honour and for friend. 

" How swiftly passed the evening !" Helen sighe'. 
" How long the hours !" my tortured heart replied. 
Joy, like a child, with lightsome steps doth glide 
By Father Time, and, looking in his fiice. 
Cries, snatching blosioms from the lair roadside, 
" I could pluck more, but fa, thy hurried pace." 
The while her elder brother Tain, man grown, 
Whose feet are hurt by m.iny a thorn and »i' e. 
Looks to bomc distant hilltni', ingh and calm. 
Where he shall find not only rest, but balm 
For all his wounds, and cries, in tones of woe, 
" Oh, father Time 1 why is ;hy pace so slow i" 



% 



Two days, all sad with 'onely wind and rain, 
Went sobbing by, repeating o'er and o vr 



I i 



MAURINR 

The miscr-rc, Jesolatc anj rfrc.ir, 
Whiih every hiim.in heart mu5t sometime hear. 
Pain is but little varied. Its refrain, 
Whatc'er the words are, is for aye the same. 
The third day brought a change, for with it came 
Not only sunny smiles to Nature's face. 
But Roy, our Roy came hack to us. Once mure 
We looked Into his laugh.ing, handsome eves. 
Which, while they gave .Aunt Ruth a glad surprise 
In no way puzzled her, for one glance told 
What cich succeeding one confirmed, that he 
Who bent above her with the lissome grace 
Of his tine form, though grown so tail, could be 
No other than the Ru; Montainc of old. 



357 



It was ,1 sweet reunion, and he brnu^ht 

So much of sunshine with him that 1 jught, 

lust from his smile alone, enough of gladncsi 

To make my heart forget a time its «adness, 

We talked together of the dear old davs : 

Leaving the present, with its depths and heights 

C>( life's maturer sorrows and delights, 

I turned back to my childhood's level land. 

And Rov and I, dear pliym tes, hand in iiaiid, 

Wandered in mem'ry ti;rG;,^h t!ie olden w.ivs. 



1 1 



It "VIS t.-,e ...econJ ev-ning of his coming. 
HeJen wm playing dreamily, .ind humming 



*♦ 



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MAURINE 



Some wordlc58 melody of white-tou'ed thought, 
While Roy >n I I f»t ^y t*" T^" '*'""■> 
Re-li/mg childish incidents of yore. 
My eyes were gloA-Mig, and my cheeks were hot 
With warm young blood ; excitement, joy, or pjin 
Alike would send swift coursing through each vein. 
Roy, always eloquent, was waxing fine. 
And bringing vividly before my gaze 
Some old adventure of those h.ilcjon days, 
When suddenly, in pauses of the talk, 
I heard a well-known step upo.i the walk. 
And looked up quickly to meet full in mine 
The eves of Vivian Dangerfi^M. A flash 
Shot from their depths ;-a sudden blaze of light 
Like that swift followed by the thunder's crash. 
Which said, "Suspicion is confirmed by sight," 
As they fell on the pleasant doorway scene. 
Then o'er his clear-cut face a cold, wl.ire look 
Crept, like the pallid moonlight o'er a brook, 
And, with a slight, proud bending of the head, 
He stepped toward us hajghiiiv, and said : 
" Please pardon my intrusion. Miss Maiinnc, 
I called to ask Miss Trevor for a book 
She spoke of lending me ; n.iy, sit you still. 
And I, by grant of your permission, v.li 
Pass by to where I hear her pUyin^." 

" Slay," 

I said, " one moment, \ivian, il you please;" 



MAUklXE 

Ai:J suddenly b:ref; of all mv e isr 

And 

Confused as anj- 



359 



scarcely knowing what to do or say, 



And 



^jlgirl, I arose, 



some Hay made each to the othc , 



They bowed, shook h.inds, then Vivi:in turned 
And sought out Helen, leaving us alone. 

" One of Miss Trevor's or of Maurine's heaux ? 
Which may he be, who cometh like a prince 
With haujhty bc.iriiig and an eagle eye;" 
Roy queried, laughing ; and I answered, " Since 
You saw him pass n\e for Miss Trevor's side, 
I leave your own good judgment to reply." 

And itriightway earned the tide of t-lk to glide 

In other channels, sti ' iiig to ,li<"el 

The »udden gloom tiu: o'er my sjjirli !i.!l. 

We mortals are such hypocrites at best ! 
When Conscience tries our courage witfi a test. 
And points to some sleep pathway, we set out 
Boldly, denying any fc^ir or diubt ; 
But pause before the first rock in the way, 
And, looki.,g back, with tesis, at Conscience, s.iy: 
"We arc so sad, dear Conscience ! for wc would 
Most gl.idly do what to thee sccmeth good ; 
But lo ! tliis rock ! wc cannot climb it, so 
Thou must point out some other waj- to go." 
Yfi sccrcily we .ire rcjviicing : and, 



aw ly 



Ill 

■II 



360 



MAURINE 



When ri};ht Icforc our face, :H we nland 
In iccming grief, ihe rock is cleft in iwain, 
I.enving tlic [Mihway clear, we slrlnk in fain, 
And, loth to go, by every act reveal 
What v\e 10 tiicd from Ci nsticntc to conceal. 




i -i 




I saw that hour, the «ay made plain, to do 
With scarce an cftort what had seemed a strife 
That would rcr;uirc tlic strength of my whole life. 

Women have iiuic; perceilions, and I knew 
That X'ivian's hcjr; was full of jealous yain, 
Suspecting — nay, if /leving —Roy Moniaine 
To be my lover. First my altered mien — 
And next the letter — then the doorway scene — 
My flushed face gazing in the one above 
That bent so near me, and my strange confj-ion 
When Vivian came all led to one conclusion: 
That I had but been playing with his love, 
As women sometimes cruelly do play 
With hearts when their true lovers are a;\ay. 

There could be nothing easier than just 
To let him linger on in his belief 
Till hourly-fed Suspicion and Distrust 
Should turn to scorn and anger all his grief. 
Compared with me, so doubly sweet and pure 
Would Helen seem, my purp!)sc would be sure 
And certain of completion in the end. 



MAUKINE 



$6, 



But now, the way was midc so straight ni,J clear, 
My coward heart shrank back in guilty fear. 
Till Conscience whi.-perej with her still sma'l voice, 
" The previous time is passing— make thy choice- 
Resign thy love, or slay thy trusting frienj." 



life. 



The growing moon, watched by the myriad eyes 
Of countless stars, went sailinf. through the skies. 
Like some young prince, risit,;; to ruls a natioji,' 
To whom all eyes arc turned in expcctaii.jn. 
A woman who pos esses tact a:id art 
And strength of will can u'.ie the hand -jCdo..;!,, 
And walk on, smiling sweetly as she g.jcs, 
With rosy lips, and rounded chccU of hloom. 
Cheating a loud-tong;i( J world ihat never knows 
The pain and sorrow of her hidJcn licirt. 
And so 1 joined in Roy's briglii changing chat j 
Answered his sallic-talkcd of this and that. 
My brow unruffled as the calm, still wave 
That tells not of the wrecked ship, and the grave 
Beneath its ^url'.lcc. 

Then we heard, ere loiij;, 
The sound of I Men's gentle voice in song, 
And, rising, entered where the subtle power 
Of Vivian's eyes, forgiving while accusing. 
Finding me weak, had won me in that hour ; 
But Roy, always polite and debonair 
Where ladies were, now hung about my clitir 



MICROCOPY DESOIUTION TEST CHART 

(ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 



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Sar 1653 East Moin Street 

— ■.— Rochester. Ne* York U609 USA 

'-^ (716) 432 - 0300 - Phone 

^= (716) 288 - 5989 - Fa« 



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36Z 



MAURINE 



With nameless dclicale attentions, using 
That air devotional, antl those small arts 
Acquaintance ivith society imparts 
To men gallant by nature. 

'Tvvas my sex 
And not myself he bowed to. Had my place 
Been filled that evening by a dowager 
Twice his own age, he would have given her 
The same attentions. Hut they served to vet 
Whatever hope in Vivian's heart remained. 
The cold, white look crept back upon his face, 
Which told how deeply he was hurt and paine.l. 

Little by little all things had conspired 
To bring events I drcided, yet dciired. 
We were in constant intercourse : walks, rides. 
Picnics and sails, filled weeks of golden weather, 
And almost hourly we were thrown together. 
No words were spoken of rebuke or scorn : 
Good friends we seemed. Cut as a gulf divides 
This land and that, though lying side by side, 
So rolled a gulf between us— deep and wide— 
The gulf of doubt, which widened slowly morn 
And noon and night. 

Free and informal were 
These picnics and excursions. Yet, although 
Helen and I would sometimes choose to go 
Without our escorts, leaving them quite free, 



MAURINE 



363 



It happened alivay Roy would seek out me 

Ere passed the day, while Vivian walked with 

her. 
I had no thought of flirting. Roy was jnst 
Like some dear brotlier, and I quite forgot 
The kinship was so distant it was not 
Safe to rely upon in perfect trust. 
Without reserve or caution. Many a time, 
When there was 5omc steep mountainside to climb 
And I grew weary, he would say, " Maurinc, 
Come rest you here." And I would go and lean 
My head upon his shoulder, or would stand 
And let him hold in his my willing hand, 
The while he stroked it gently with his own. 
Or I would let him c'asp me with his arm, 
Nor entertained a thought of any harm, 
Nor once supposed but Vivian was alone 
In his suspicions. But ere long the truth 
I learned in consternation ! both Aunt Ruth 
And Helen honestly, in faith, believed 
That Roy and I were lovers. 

Undeceived, 
Some cirelcss words might open Vivian's eyes 
Ar.d spoil my plans. So reasoning in this wise. 
To all their sallies I in jest replied. 
To naught assented, and yet naught denied, 
With Roy unchanged remaining, confident 
Each understood just what the other meant. 



u| 


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36+ 



MAURINE 



If I grew weary of ihis double part, 

And self-imposed deception caused my heart 

Sometimes to shrink, I needed but to gr/x 

On Helen's face ; that wore a look etlicreal. 

As if she dwelt above the things material 

And held communion with the angels. So 

I fed my strength and coumge througli the days. 

What time the harvest moon rose full .ind clear 

And cast its ling'ring radiance on the earth. 

We made a feast j and called from far and near, 

Our friends, who came to share the scene of mirth. 

Fair forms and faces flitted to and fro ; 

But none more sweet than Helen's. Robed in white, 

She floated like a vision through the dance. 

So frailly fragile and so phantom fair, 

She seemed like some stray spirit of the air, 

And was pursued by many an anxious glance 

That looked to sec her fading from the sight 

Like figures that a dreamer sees at night. 

And noble men and gallants graced the scene : 

Yet none more noble or more grand of mien 

Than Vivian — broad of .hest and shoulder, tall 

And finely formed, as any Grecian god 

Whose high-arched foot on Mount Olympus trod. 

His clear-cut face was beardless ; and, like those 

Same Grecian statues, when in calm repose. 

Was it in hue and feature. Framed in hair 

Dark and -bunJant ; lighted by large eyes 



MAURINE 365 

That cojW be cold as steel in winter air, 
Or warm and iunny as Italian skies. 

Weary of mirth and music, and the sound 
Of tripping feet, I sought a moment's rest 
Witliin the lib'ry, where a group I found 
Of guests, discussing with apparent zest 
Some theme of interest — Vivian, near the while, 
Leaning and listening with his slow, odd smile. 
" Now, Miss La I'elle, we will appeal to you," 
Cried young Guy Semple, as I entered. "We 
Have been discussing right before his face. 
All unrebuked by him, as you may see, 
A poem lately published by our friend : 
And we are quite divided. I contend 
The poem is a libel and untrue. 
I hold the fickle women are but few. 
Compared with those who are like yon fair moon 
That, ever faithful, rises in ' place 
Whether she's greeted by the liuwers of June 
Or cold aiid dreary stretches of white space." 

" Oh !" cried another, " Mr. Dangerfield, 
Look to your laurels ! or you needs must yield 
The crown to Semple, who, 'tis very plain. 
Has mounted Pegasus and grasped his mane." 

All laughed ; and then, as Guy appealed to me, 
I answered lightly, " My young friend, I fear 



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366 



MAURINE 



Vou chose a most unlucky simile 

To prove the trulh of woman. To her place 

The moon does rise — but with a ditlorent face 

Each time she comes. But now 1 needs must hear 

The poem read, before I can consent 

To pass my judgment on the sentiment." 

All clamoured that the author was the man 
To read the poem : and, with tones that saiJ 
More than the cutting, scornful words he read, 
Tiking the book Guy gave him, he began : 

HER LOVE. 

The sands upon rhe ocean side 
That change khout with every tide, 
And never true to one ai;ide. 
A woman'i lo/c I J'.;en to. 

The summer zephyrs, light and vain. 
That sing the same alluring strain 
To every grass blade on the plain — 
A woman's love is nothin;^ raor'. 

The sunshine of an April dav 
That comes to w::rm you wiih its h^t^ 
But while you smile has flown away— 
A woman's love is like to this. 

God made poor woman with no heart. 
But gave her skill, and tact, and art, 
And so she lives, and p!;:ys her part. 
\Vt ninst not blame, but pity her. 



MAURINE 367 

S!ir leans to man — but just to hear 
Tl-.c praise he whi.pcrs in her ear, 
Hfrscll", nnt Iilm, slir l.ni^letli dtar — 
Oh, fuol ! to he un.tiveil by licr. 

To sate her selli^h thirst she quaffs 
The love of stiunj^ hearts in cwtet clrauphts, 
Then thro-vs tliciii li;^htly by and laughs, 
Too weak to undeistand thtir pain. 

As changeful as the winds that blow 
From every region, to and f o, 
Dtnoid of heart, she cannot know 
i'he suffering of a huinau heart. 

I knew the cold, fixed gaze of Vivian's eyes 
Saw the slow colour to my forehead rise ; 
Uut lightly answered, toying with my fan, 
"Tlut sentiment is very like a man ! 
Men call us fickle, but they do us wrong ; 
WVre only frail and helpless, men are sciong ; 
And when love dies, they take the poor dead thin^ 
And make a shroud out of their SLitfcring, 
And drag the corpse about with them for year*. 
But we ? — we mourn it for a dr.y with tears ! 
And then we robe it for its last long rest, 
And being women, feeble things at best. 
We cannot dig the grave ourselves. And so 
We call strong-limbed New Love to lav it low ; 
Immortal sexton he ! whom Venus sends 
To do this service for her earthly friends, 



ih 




368 



MAURINE 



The truity fellow digs the grave so deep 
Nothings disturbs the dead laid there to sleep." 

The laugh that followed had not died away 

Ere Roy Montaine came seething me to say 

The band was tuning for our waltz, and so 

Back to the ballroom bore me. In the glow 

Ar.d heat and whirl, my strength ere long was spent, 

And I grew faint and dizzy, and we went 

Out on the ccol moonlighted portico, 

And, litting there, Roy drew my languid head 

Upon the shelter of his breast, and bent 

His smiling eyes upon me, as he said : 

" I'll try the mesmerism of my touch 

To work <i cure : be very quiet now. 

And let me make some passes o'er your brow. 

Why, how it throbs ! you've exercised too much I 

I shall not let you dance ?gain to-night." 

Just then before us, in the broad moonlight, 
Two forms wcf mirrored : and I turned mv face 
To catch the teasing and mischievous glance 
Of Helen's eyes, as, heated by the dance, 
Leaning on Vivian's arm, she sought this place. 

" I beg your pardon," came in that round tone 
Of his low voice. " 1 think we do intrude." 
Bowing, they turned, and left •■ ■■ quite alone 
Ere I could speak or change my attitude. 



I 



MAURINE 



369 



PART V 
A visit to ;< cave some miles away 
Was next in order. So, one sunny day, 
Four prancing steeds conveyed a laughing load 
Of merry pleasure-seekers o'er the road. 
A basket picnic, muoic, and croquet 
Were in the programme. Skies uere blue and clear 
And cool winds wliispcrcd of ihe Autumn near 
The merry-makers filled the time with pleasure : 
Seme floated to the music's rhythmic measure, 
Some played, some promenaded on the green. 
Ticked oft- by happy hearts, the moments passed. 
The afternoon, all glow and glimmer, caiiie. 
Helen and Roy were leaders of sonic game. 
And Vivian was not visible. 

"Mauri lie, 
I challenge you to climb yoi cliiF with me ! 
And who shall tire, or reach the summit last 
Must pay a forfeit," cried a romping maid. 
" Come ! start at once, or own )..u arc atiaid." 
So challenged I made ready for the race, 
Deciding first the forfeit was to be 
A handsome pair of bootees to replace 
The victor's loss who made the rough ascent. 
The cliiF was steep and stony. On we went" 
As eagerly as if the path was Fame, 
And ^vhat we climbed for, glory and a name. 



m 



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J70 



MAURI NE 



My hands were bruised j my f;irments sadlj- rcit. 
But on I claml'crcd. Scon I hcjrd . crv, 
"Maurine! M.iurinc! nij strength is wiiolly spent I 
You've won tlic boots ! I'm going biclt — gooj-bje !" 
Anii bacl: she turned, in spite of laugh and jeer, 

I reached the summit : and its solitude, 

Wlierein no Il\ing creature di' intrude, 

Save lome sad birds tliat wheeled and circled near, 

I found far sweeter than the scene below. 

Alone with One who knew my hidden .voc, 

I did not feel lo much alone as when 

I mixed with th' unthinking throngs of nen. 

SoR'e flowers that decked ihc barren, sterile place 
I plucked, and read the lesson they convened, 
That in our lives, albeit dark with shade 
And rough and hard with labour, yet may gTow 
The flowers of Patience, Sympathy, and Grace. 

As I walked on in meditative thought, 

A scrncnt writhed across my pathway ; not 

A large or deadly serpent ; yet the sight 

Filled me with ghastly terror and afiright. 

I shrieked aloud : a darkness veiled my eyes— 

And I fell fainting 'neath the w;;tchi'iil skici. 

I was no coward. Country-bred and born, 
I had no feeling but the keenest scorn 



i'l: 



MAURrNK 

For tho,c .1m,! I,J,- " j|/," ,„i ..q^.j.. „p^^j^ 
So much j.sumed (when any nan i> near). 
But God impluued In each hu nan heart 
A natural horror, and a siclilj' Ji ad 
Of that accursid, slimy, creeping ihing 
That squirm, a limbless carcass o'er the ground. 
Aid where that inborn loathing is not found 
Vou'Il find the serpent qualities instc.ul. 
Who fears it not, himself is next of kin, 
And in his bosom holds some treacherous art 
Whereby to counteract its vcnomed sting. 
And .ill are sired by S tan— Chief of Sin. 



37' 



Who loathes not that foul creature of the dust, 
However fair in .ceming, i distrust. 

I woke from my unconsciousness, to know 
I leaned upon a broad and manly breast, 
And Vivian's voice was speaking, sort and low, 
Sweet whispered words of passion, o'er and o'er 
r dared not breathe. Had I found !• den's shore ' 
Wr.s this 1-. foretaste of Eternal bliss ! 
"My We •• he sighed, his voice li« wind, that moan 
Uefore a ram m Summ.r.time, " my own. 
For one sweet stolen moment, lie and rest 
Upon this heart that lo-es and hates you both < 
O fair f,>lse face ! VVh) u. .e j-ou made so fair I 
O moutj of Southern swi. tncss ! that ripe kiss 



37* 



MAURINE 



'I'li.it haiigs upon yon, I do ti'<e «n oith 
llii lips sli.i!! never gather. There !— and there ! 
I steal it from him. Arc you his — all his ? 
Nny, you are mine, this moment, as I dreamed— 
Blind fool— believing you were what you seemed— 
You would be mine in all the years to come. 
Fair fiend ! 1 love and hate you in a brc.ith. 
O God ! it' this white pallor were but J,;ii/; 
And 1 were stretched beside you cold a ul dumb, 
My arms about you, so — in fond embrace 1 
My lips pressed, so — upon your dying face !'' 

" Woman, how dare you bring me to such shame I 
How dare you drive me to an act like this, 
To steal from your unconscious lips the kiss 
You lured me on to think my rightful cl.iiin I 
O frail and puny woman ! could you know 
The devil that you vvakeu in the hc.irts 
You snare and bind in your enticing arts, 
The tl-in, pale stuff that in your veins doth fiuw 
Would freeze in terror. 

Strange you li-.ve such power 
To please or pain us, poor, weak, soulless things — 
Devoid of passion as a senseless flower ! 
Like butterflies, your '>n\y bo.ist, your wings. 
There, now I scorn you — scorn you from tliis hour. 
And hate myself for having talked of love !" 
He pus! cd me from him. And 1 felt as those 



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373 



MAURINl 

D.x.mc.1 ancels must, when pcirly ga;t, above 
Are tloscd ag.iinst tlicm. 

With a feigned lurprise 
1 Bt.nrteJ up and opened wide my eyes, 
And loo! cd -bout, ."hen in confusion row 
And itood b> ; ire liim. 

" Pardon me, I pray !" 
He laid quite coldly. " Half in hour ag., 
I left you with the company below, 
And sought this cliff. Ar >ment since you cried, 
It seemed, in sudden terrc nd alarm. 
I came in time to sec you swoon awar. 
Vou'll need assistance duwn the rugged side 
Of i;.is steep cliff. I pray you take my a< • " 

So, formal and conitrained, we passed alon^, 
Rejoined our fncnds and mingled with the throng. 
To have no further speech again that day. 

Next morn there came a bulltv <!ocument, 
The lcg.il firm of Blank and fiiank had sent, 
Containing news unlocked for. An estate ' 
Which proved a cosy fortune-nowise great 
Or pr.nccly— had in France been left to me 
My grandsire's last descendant. And it bro'ught 
A sense of joy and freedom in the thought 
Of foreign travel, which I hoped would be 
A panacea for my troubled mind. 



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374 



MAURINE 



That lo' gcd to leave the oUl-ii scenes behind 
With all their recollections, and to flee 
To soiue strange country. 

I was in such haste 
To put between me and my nitive land 
The briny ocean's desolating w:.stc, 
I gave Aunt Ruth no peace, until sl.e planned 
To sail that week, two months; though she was fain 
To wait until the Springtime. Roy Montaine 
Would be our guide and escort. 

No one drt ':i.;d 

The cause of my strange hurry, but all seemed 
To think goou fortune had quite turned my brain. 
One bright October mi-.rning, when the woods 
Had donned their purple mantles and red hoods 
In honour of the Frost King, Vivian came, 
Bringing some green leave., tipped with crimson 

flame- 
First trophies of the Autumn time. 

And Roy 
Made a proposal that we all should go 
And ramble in the forest for a while. 
But Helen said she was not weh— and so 
Must stay at home. Then Vivian, with a smile. 
Responded, "I will stay and ta'.k to you. 
And they may go ;" at which her two checks grew 
Like twin blush roses— dyed with love's red wave, 
Her fair face shone transfigured with great joy. 



MAURINE 375 

And V'lvl.in saw — and suddenly was grave. 
R'ly took ray arm in that protecting way 
Peculiar to some men, whicli sccjns to say, 
" I shield my own," a manner pleasing, e'en 
When we are conscious that it does not mean 
More than a simple courtesy. A woman 
Whose heart is wholly feminine and human. 
And not unscxed by hobbies, likes to be 
The object of that tender chivalry. 
That g'lardianship which man bestows on her, 
Yet mixed with deference; as if she were 
Half child, half angel. 

Though she may be strong. 
Noble and self-reliant, not afraid 
To raise her hand and voice against all wrong 
And all oppression, yet if she be made. 
With all the independence of her thought, 
A woman womanly, as God designed, 
Albeit she may have as great a mind 
As man, her brother, yet his streng.h of arm, 
His muscle and his boldness she has not, 
And cannot have without she loses what 
Is far more precious, modesty and g:ace. 
So, walking on in her appointed place. 
She does not strive to ape him, nor pretend 
But that she needs him for a guide and friend, 
To shield her with his greater strength from harm. 



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376 



MAURINE 



We rettchtd the forest ; wandered to and fro 

Through many a winding path and Jim retreat, 

Till I grew weary : when I chose a seat 

Upon an oak-tree, which had been laid low 

By some wind storm, or by some lightnin; stroke. 

And Roy stood just below me, where the ledge 

On which I sat sloped steeply to the edge 

Of,sunny meadows lying at my feet. 

One hand held mine ; the other grasped a limb 

That cast its checkered shadows over him ; 

And, with his head thrown back, his dark eyes raised 

And fixed upon me, silently he gazed 

Until I, smiling, turned to him and spoke : 

" Give words, my cousin, to those thoughts that rise, 

And, like dumb spirits, look forth from your eyes." 

The smooth and even darkness of his cheek 
Was stained one moment by a flush of red. 
He swayed his lithe form nearer as he stood 
Still clinging to the branch above his head. 
His brilliant eyes grew darker ; and he said. 
With sudden passion, " Do you bid me speak ; 
I cannot, then, keep silence if 1 would. 
That hateful fortune, coming as it did, 
Forbade my speaking sooner ; lor I knew 
A harsh-tongued world would quickly misconstrue 
My motive for a meaner one. But, sweet, 
So big my heart has grown with love for you 



MAURINE J77 

I cannot shelter it or keep it hid. 

And io I cast it throbbing at your feet, 

For you to guard and cherish, or to break. 

Maurine, I love you better than my life. 

My friend— my cousin— be still more, my wife t 

Maurine, Maurine, what answer do you make ?" 

I Karce could breathe for wonderment ; anJ numb 
With truth that fell too suddenly, sat dumb 
With sheer amaze, and stared at Roy with eyes 
That looked no feeling but complete surprise. 
He swayed so near his breath was en my cheek. 
"Maurine, Maurine," he wh ispc. c .1, " will you speak .=" 

Then suddenly, as o'er some m.igic ghss 
One picture in a score of shapes will pars, 
I seemed to see Roy glide be.'bre my gaze. 

First, as the playmate of my earlier days 

Next, as my kin— and then my valued friend, 
And last, my lover. As when colours blend 
In some unlooked-for group before our eyes, 
We hold the glajs, and look them o'er and o'er, 
So now t gazed on Roy in his new guise, 
In which he ne'er appeared to me before. 

His form was like a panther's in its grace. 
So lithe and supple, and of medium height. 
And garbed in all the elegance of fashion. 
His large black e; es were full of (ire and passion, 



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MAURINE 



And in crpression fearless, firm, and bright. 
His hair w.u like the very deeps of night, 
And hung in raven clusters 'round a face 
Of dark and flashing beauty. 

He was m ;re 
Like some romantic maiden's grand ideal 
Than like a common being. As I gized 
Upon the handsome face to mine upraised, 
I saw before me, living, breathing, real, 
The hero of my earl> Jay-drca:iis : t'.ough 
So full my he.irt was with that clear-cut face, 
Which, all unlike, yet claimed the hero's place, 
I had not recognised him so before. 
Or thought of him, save as a valued friend. 
So now I called him, adding, 

" Foolish boy ! 
Each word of love you utter aims a blow 
At that sweet trust I had reposed in you. 
I was so certain I had found a true, 
Steadfast man friend, on whom I could depen ', 
And go on wholly trusting to the end. 
Why did you shatter my delusion, Roy, 
By turning to a lover ?" 

" Why, indeed ! 
Because I loved you more than any brother. 
Or any friend could love." Then he began 
To argue like a lawyer, and to plead 
With all his eloquence. And, listening, 



MAURINF, 

I strove to think it was a goodly thing 
To be ;o fondly loved by such a man, 
And it were best to give his wooing hceJ, 
And not deny him. Then before my eyes. 
In all its clear-cut majesty, that other 
Haughty and poet-handsome face would rise 
And rob my purpose of all life and strength. 



379 



Roy urged and argued, as Roy only could. 

With that impetuous, boyish eloquence. 

He held my hands, and vowed I must, and should 

Give some least hope ; till, in my own defence, 

I turned upon him, and replied at length : 

" I thank you for the noble heart you offer : 

But it deserves a true one in exchange. 

I could love you if I loved not another 

Who keeps my heart ; so I have none to proffer." 



> 



Then, seeing how his dark eyes flashed, I said : 

" Dear Roy ! I know my words seem very strange ; 

But I love one I cannot hope to wed. 

A river rolls b"ween us, d.irk and deep. 

To cross it — Acre to stain with blood my hand. 

You force my speech on what 1 fain would keep 

In my own bosom, but you underst.-:nd .' 

My heart is given to love that's sanctified, 

And now can feel no other. 



'I 



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MAURINE 




Be j'ou kind, 
Dear Roy, my brother ! spejl of this no more, 
Lest pleading and denying should divide 
The hearts so long united. Let me find 
In you my cousin and m/ trlend of yore. 
And now come home. The morning, all too soon 
And unperceived, has melted into noon. 
Helen will miss us, and we must rctun." 

He took my hand, and helped me to arise. 
Smiling upon me with his sad, dark eyes, 
Where passion's fires had, sudden, ce.nsed to burn. 

" And so," he said, " too soon and unforeseen 
My friendship melted into love, Maurine. 
But, sweet I I am not wholly in the blame 
For what you term my fol'y. You forgot, 
Sd long we'd known each other, I had not 
In truth a brother's or a cousin's claim. 
But I remembered, when through every nerve 
/our lighten touch went thrilling ; and began 
To love you with that human love of man 
For comely woman. By your coaxing arts, 
You won your way into my heart of hearts, 
And all Platonic feelings put to rout. 
A maid should never lay aside reserve 
With one who's not her kinsman, out and out. 
But «s we now, with measured steps, retrace 




MAURINE 



381 



The path we came, e'en so my heart I'll semi, 
At your command, back to the oldcn place, 
And strive to love you only as a friend." 
I felt the justice of his mild reproof, 
But answered, laughing, "'Tis the same old cry : 
* The woman tempted me, and I did cat." 
Since Adam's time we've heard it. But I'll try 
And be more prudent, sir, and hold aloof 
The fruit I never once had thought so sweet 
'Twould tempt you any. Now go dress for dinner, 
Thou sinned against ! as also will the sinner. 
And gu- -d each act, that no least look betray 
What's passed between us." 

Then I turned away 
And sought my room, low humming some old air 
That ceased upon the threshold ; for mine eyes 
Fell on a face so glorified and fair 
All other senses, merged in that of sight. 
Were lost in contemplation of the bright 
And wond'rous picture, which h.nd otherivise 
Made dim my vision. 

Waiting in my room, 
Her whole face lit as by an inward flame 
That sheds its halo 'round her, Helen stood ; . 
Her fair hands folded like a lily's leaves 
Weighed down by happy dews of summer eves. 
Upon her check the colour went and came 
As sunlight flickers o'er a bed of bloom j 




J«l 



MAL'RINE 



And, like some slim young sapling of il>e wooJ, 
Her tlcndcr form leiiicil slightly ; and her hair 
Fell 'round her loosely, in long curling strands 
All unconfinej, and as by loving hands 
Tossed into bright confusion. 

Standing tliere, 
Her starry eyes uplifted, she did seem 
Like some unearthly creature of a dream ; 
Until she started forward, gliding slowly. 
And broke the breathless silence, speaking Ici«Iv, 
As one grown meek, and humble in an hour, 
Bowing before some new and mighty power. 

" Maurine, Maurine !" she murmured, and again, 
"Maurine, my own sweet friend, Maurine !" 

And then. 
Laying her love-Iight hands upon my head, 
She leaned, and looked into my eyes, and said 
With voice that bore her joy in ev'ry tone. 
As winds that blow across a garden bed 
Are weighed with fragrance, " He is mine alone, 
And I am his — all his — liis very own. 
So pledged this hour, by that most acred tie 
Save one beneath God's over-a-ching sky, 
I could not wait to tell you of my bliss : 
I want your blessing, sweetheart I and your kiss." 
So hiding my heart's trouble with a smile, 
I leaned and kissed her dainty mouth j the v.liiie 



MAL'P.INK 

I felt a guili-joy, 3= of some sweet sin, 

When my li^is tell where lii» so late haJ been. 

And all day long I bore about with me 

A sense of shame — yet mixed with satisfaction, 

As some starved child might steal a loaf, and be 

Sad with the guilt resulting from her action, 

While yet the morsel in her mouth wai sweet. 

'I'hat ev'ning when the house had settled down 

To sleep and quiet, to my room there crept 

A lithe young form, robed in a lOng white gown : 

With steps like fall of thistle-down she came, 

Her mouth smilc-wrcaihed ; and, bieatliii^; lov. 

name, 
Nestled in graceful beauty at mv feet. 



383 



my 



"Sweetheart," she murmured softly, " ere I sleep, 
I needs must tell you all my tale of joy. 
Beginning where you left us — you and Roy. 
You saw the colour flame upon my cheek 

When Vivian spoke of staying. So did he ; 

And, when we weri> alone, he gazed at me 
With such a Strang; look in his wond'rous eyes. 
The silence deepened ; and I tried to speak 
Upon some common topic, but could not, 
My heart was in such tumult. 

In this wise 
Five happy moments glided by us, fraught 
With hours of feeling. Vivian rose up then, 



"I 

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MAURINE 







And came and itood by me, and stroked my ha!r, 

And, i.i his low voice, o'er and o'er again, 

Said, ' Helen, little Helen, frail and fair.' 

Then took my face, and turned it to the light. 

And looking in my eyes, and leeing what 

Wai shining from them, murmured, sweet and l,nv, 

' Dear eyes, you cannot veil the truth from sight. 

You ,ove me Helen I answer, is it so J' 

And I made answer straightway, ' With my life 

And soul and strength I love you, O my love 1' 

He leaned and took me gentiy to his breast. 

And said, ' Here then this dainty head s'ull rest 

Henceforth for ever : O my little dove ! 

My lily-bud — my fr.igile blossom-wife I' 



liifr 



And then I told hira all my thoughts ; and he 
Listened, with kisses for his comments, till 
My tale was finished. Then he said, ' I will 
Be frank with you, my darling, from ilie start, 
And hide no secret from you in ray heart, 
I love you, Helen, but you are not first 
To rouse that love to being. Ere we met 
I loved a woman madly — never dreaming 
She was not all in truth she was in seeming. 
Enough ! she proved to be that thing accursed 
Of God and man — a wily vain coquette. 
I hate myself for having loved her. Yet 
So much my heart spent on her, it must i^he 



air, 



I low, 
lit. 



MAURINE ,|j 

A love Itib ardent, jnJ Icsj projigal, 

Albeit juit as tcnjtr and at true — 

A milder, yet a faithful love to you. 

Juit as lome evil fortune might befall 

A man'i great riches, cauiing him to live 

In lome low coi, all unpretending, still 

Ai much hit home— as much his loved re'reaf, 

Aj was the princely pai.ice on the hill. 

E'en 10 1 ■jIve you all that's left, my sweet I 

Of my hcart-fortmie.' 

' That were more to nic,' 
I made swift smiling answer, ' than to be 
The worshipped consort of a king.' And so 
Our faith was pledged. But \"ivian would not go 
Until I vowt J to wed him New Year day. 
And I am sad because you go away 
Before that time. I sh.ill not fcjl half wcj 
Without you here. I'ostpone your trip and si.iy, 
And be my bridesmaid." 

" N.iy, [ cannot, dear ; 
"T would disarrange our pl.ins for half a yc«. 
I'll be in Europe New Year day," I said, 
"And send congratulations by the cable." 
And fr..m my soul thanked Providence for sp.iring 
The pain, to me, of sharing in, and wearing. 
The festal garments of a wedding scene, 
While all my heart was hung with sorrow's sable. 
Forgetting for a reason, that between 



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• i 




Till.' tup an J lip lies many j dunce of loss, 
I lived ill my near i'uiurc, conliJciit 
All would ^; as I planned it ; and, acrosi 
The briny waste of waters, 1 should find 
Some balm and comfort for my troubled mind. 
The sad Fall days, like maidens .luburn-trcsscd 
And amber-eyed, in purple garments dressed, 
Passed by, and dropped their tears upon the tomb 
Of fair Queen Summer, buried in her bloom. 

Roy left ui for a time, and Helen went 

To make the nuptial preparations. Then, 

Aunt Ruth complained one day of feeling ill : 

Her veins ran red with fever ; and the skill 

Of two physicians could not stem the tide. 

The house, that rang so late with laugh and jest, 

Cjrew ghostly with low whispered sounds : and when 

The Autumn day, that I had thought to be 

Bounding upon the billows of the sea, 

Came sobbing in, it found me pale and worn, 

Striving to keep away that unloved gucit 

Who comes unbidden, making hearts to mourn. 

Through all the anxious weeks 1 w.-\tched beside 

The sufTrcr's couch, Roy was my help and stav ; 

Others were kind, but he a!one each day 

Brought strength and comfort, by his cheerful fxe, 

And hopeful words, th..; fell in that sad place 

Like rays of light upon a darkened way. 



MAURINE 



387 



November passed ; ijid Wimcr tri»p anj cliill, 
In robes otcriniiic walked on 1 bin and hill. 
Returning light and lit'c di-^icilcd the glouin 
That thcjteJ Death had broujjht us I'runi the tomb. 
Aunt Ru;h was saved, and slowly gctiing better — 
Wai dressed each day, and walked abcjut the room. 
Then came one morning in the Eas;orn mail, 
A little white-winged birdling ot'i letter. 
I brolte the seal and read, 

" M-iurint, my own ! 
I hear Aunt Ruth is better, and am glad. 
1 felt so sorry for you ; and so sad 
To think I left you when I did — alone 
'I'o bear your pain and worry, and those right» 
Of weary, anxious watching. 

Vivian write. 
V'oui plans are changed now, and you will not sail 
Before the Springtime. So you'll come and be 
My bridesmaid, darling ! Do not say me nay. 
I!ut three weeks more of girlhood left to me. 
Come, if you can, just two weeks from to-day, 
And make your preparations here. My sweet! 
Indeed I am not glad Aunt Ruth was ill— 
I'm sorry she has sullcred so j and still 
I'm thankful something happened, so you stayed. 
I'm sure my wedding would be incomplete 
Wiihout }our presence. Selfish, I'm afraid 
You'll think your Helen. But 1 love you so, 



11. 

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388 



MAURINE 



How can I be quite willing >ou should go f 
Come Christmas Eve, or earlier. Let me know, 
And I will meet you, dearie ! at the train. 
Your happy, loving Helen." 

Then the pain 
That, hidden under later pain and rare, 
Had made no moan, but silent, seemed to sleep, 
Woke from its trance-like lethargy, to steep 
My tortured lieart in anguish and despair. 



m 

'.h 1 






I had relied too fully on my skill 

In bending circumstances to my will : 

,^nd now I was rebuked and made to see 

That God alone knoweth what is to be. 

Then came a messenger from Vivian, who 

Came not himself, as he was wont to do, 

But sent his servant each new day to bring 

A kindly message, or an offering 

Of juicy fruits to cool the lips of fever, 

Or dainty hot-house blossoms, with their bloom 

To brightcT up the convalescent's room. 

But now the servant only brought a line 

From Vivian Dangcrfield to Roy Montaine, 

" Dear Sir, and Friend " — in letters bold and plain, 

Written on cream-white paper, so it ran : 

" It is the will and pleasure of Miss Trevor, 

And therefore doubly so a wish of mine, 

That you shall honour me next New Year Eve, 



MAURINE 

My «cdJh)g hour, by standing as best man 
Miss Trevor has six bridesmaids I believe 
Being myself a novice in the art— 
If I should fail in acting wq]\ my part, 
I'll need protection "gainst the regiment 
Of outraged !. dies. So, I pray, consent 
To stand by me in time of need, and shield 
Your friend sincerely, Vivian Da.igerficld." 

The last least hope had vanished ; I must drain, 
li'cn to the dregs, this bitter cup of piin. 



3?9 



PART vr 

Tliere was a week of bustle and of hurry ; 
A stately home echoed to voices sweet. 
Calling, replying ; and to tripping feet 
Of busy bridesmaids, running to and fro. 
With all that girlish fluttering and flurry 
Preceding such occasions. 

Helen's room 
Was like a lily-garden, all !i, bloom. 
Decked with the dainty robes of her trousseau 
My robe was fashioned by swift, skilful hands- 
A thing of beauty, elegant and rich, 
A mystery of looplngs, puffs and bands ; 
And as I watched it growing, stitch by s'titch, 

26 



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390 



MAURINE 







I felt M one might feel who should behola 
With vision trance-like, where his body lay 
In deathly slumber, simulating clay, 
His grave-cloth sewed together, fold on fold. 

I lived with ev'ry nerve upon the strain, 
As men go into battle j and the pain, 
That, more and more, to my sad heart revealed 
Grew ghastly with its horror,, was concealed 
From mortal eyes by superhuman power. 
That God bestowed upon me, hour by hour. 
What night the Old Year gave unto the New 
The key of human happiness and woe, 
The pointed stars, upon their field of blue, 
Shone, white and perfect, o'er a world below, 
Of snow-clad beauty ; all the trees were dressed 
In gleaming garments, decked with diadems, 
Each seeming like a bridal-bidden guest, 
Coming o'erladcn wi;h a gift of gems. 

The bustle of the drcssing-rooia ; the sound 
Of eager voices in discourse j the clang 
Of " sweet bells jangled " ; thud of steel-clad feet 
That beat swift music on the frozen ground- 
Ail blent together in my brain, and rang 
A medley of strange noises, incomplete. 
And full of discords. 






MAURIN'E 

Then out on tli^ night 
Streamed from the open vestibule, a light 
That lit the vclvjt blossoms which we trod, 
With al! the hues of those that deck the sod. 
The grand cathedral windows were ablaze 
With gorgeous colours ; through a sea of bloom, 
Up the long aisle, to join the waiting groom. 
The bridal cortege passed. 

As some lost soul 
M'ght surge on with the curious croud, to g.ize 
Upon its coffined body, so I went 
With that glad festal throng. The organ sent 
Great waves of melody along the air, 
That broke and fell, in liquid drops, like spray, 
On happy hearts that listened. But to me 
It sounded faintly, as if miles a'AJy, 
A troubled spirit, sitting in dcspiir 
Beside the sad and ever-moaning sea. 
Gave utterance to sighing sounds of dole. 
We paused before altar, framed in flowers, 
The white-robed man of God stood forth. 

I heard 
The solemn service open ; through long hours 
I seemed to stand and listen, while each word 
Fell on my ear as falls the sound of clay 
Upon the cofEn of the worshipped dead. 
The stately father gave the bride away : 
The bridegroom circled with a golden band 



391 



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MAURINE 



The taper finger of her dainty h.ind. 

The last imposing, binding worJi were said — 

" What God has joined let no man put asunder " — 

And all my strife with self was at an end ; 

My lover was the husband of my friend. 

How 5trangc!y, in some awful hour of pain, 

External trifles with our sorrows blend I 

I never hear the mighty organ's thunder, 

1 never catch the scent of heliotrope, 

Nor see stained windows all ablaze with light. 

Without that dizzy whirling of the brain. 

And all the ghanly feeling of that night. 

When my sick heart relinquished love and hope. 

The pain we feel so keenly may depart, 

And e'en its memory cease to haunt the heart : 

But some slight thing, a perfume, or a sound 

Will probe the closed recesses of the wound, 

And for a moment bring the old-time smart. 

Congratulations, kisses, tears and smiles. 

Good-byes and farewells given ; then across 

The snowy waste of weary wintry miles. 

Back to my girlh^od's home, where, through each 

room. 
For evermore pale phantoms of delight 
Should aimless wander, alw.-iys in my sight. 
Pointing, with ghc-.ly fingers, to the tomb 



MAURINE 



393 



Wet with -he tears of living pain and loss. 
The sleepless nights of watching and of care, 
Followed by that one week of keenest pain, 
Taxing my weakened system, and my brain, 
Brought on a ling'ring illness. 

Day by day, 
In that stMnge, apathetic state I lay, 
Of mental and of physical despair. 
I had no pain, no fever, and no chill. 
But lay without ambition, strength, or will. 
Knowing no wish for anything but rest, 
Which seemed, of all God's store of gifts, the best. 

Physicians came and shook their heads and sighed j 
And to their score of questions I replied. 
With but one languid answer, o'er and o'er, 
"I am so weary— weary— notliing more." 



each 



I slept, and dreamed I was some feathered thing, 
Flying through space with ever-aching wing. 
Seeking a ship called Rest all snowy white, 
That sailed and sailed before mc, just in si.'ht 
But always one unchanging distance kept, 
And woke more weary than before I slept. 



I slept, and dreamed I ran to win a prize, 

A hand from heaven held down before my e)es. 



394 



MAURINE 



Ail c.igcrness I sought it— it was gone, 

But sliune in all its bLauly farther on. 

I ran, and ran, ani ran, in eager qucit 

Of that great prize, whereon was written " Rest," 

Which ever just beyond my reach did gleam, 

And walcened doubly weary with my dream. 

I dreamed I was a crystal drop of rain, 

That saw a snow-white lily on the plain, 

And left the cloud to nestle in her breast. 

I fell and fell, but nevermore found rest — 

I fell and fell, but found no stopping place. 

Through leagues and leagues of never-cndiiij; space. 

While space illimitable stretched before. 

And all these dreams but wearied me the mo.-e. 



m 



Familiar voices sounded in my room — 

Aunt Ruth's, and Roy's, and Helen's ; but they 

teemed 
A part of some strange fancy I had dreamed, 
And now rem-.'mbered dimly. 

Wrapped in gloom, 
My mind, o'ertaxed, lost hold of time at last, 
Ignored its future, and forgot its past. 
And groped along the present, as a light, 
Carried, uncovered, through the fogs of nlglit. 
Will flicker faintly. 



MAURINE 



*«t," 



; space, 



395 



But I felt, at length, 
When March winds brought vague rumours of the 

spring, 
A certain sense of " restlessness with rest." 
My aching frame was weary of repose, 
And wanted action. 

Then slow-creeping strength 
Came back with Mem'ry, hand in hand, to bring 
And lay upon my sore and bleeding breast, 
Grim-visagcd Recollection's thorny rose. 
I gained, and failed. One day could ride and walk, 
The next would find me prostrate: while a flock 
Of ghostly thoughts, like phantom birds, would flit 
About the chambers of my heart, or sit. 
Pale spectres of the past, with folded wings, 
Perched, silently, upon the voiceless strings, 
That once resounded to Hope's happy lays. 



i 



fi 



ut they 



gloom, 



So passed the ever-chinging April dayi. 
When May came, lightsome footed, o'er the lea, 
Accompanied by kind Aunt Ruth and Roy, 
I bade farewell to home with secret joy. 
And turned my wan face eastward to the sea. 
Roy planned our route of travel : for all lands 
Were one to him. Or Egypt's burning sands, 
Or Alps of Switzerland, or stately Rome, 
All were familiar as the fields of home. 



I 

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396 



MAURINR 



ii' 




m 



h, 



There was a yc.ir of waiu'Ving to and ftn. 
Like restless spiriis; sowing mountain height.! 
Dwelling among the countless, r.irc delights 
Of lands historic ; turning dusty pages, 
Stamped with the tragedies of mighty ages 
Gazing upon the scenes of bloody acts. 
Of kings long buried-bare, unvarnished facts 
Surpassing wildest fictions of the brain ; 
Rubbing against all people, high and low, 
And by this contact feeling Self to grow' 
Smaller and less important, and the vein 
Of human kindness deeper, seeing God, 
Unto the humble dclver of the sod, 
And to the ruling monarch on the throne. 
Has given hope, ambition, joy, and pain. 
And that all hearts have feelings like our onn. 

There is no school that disciplines the mind, 
And broadens thought, like contact with maukinJ. 
The college-prisoned greybeard, who has burned 
The midnight lamp, and book-bound knuwU-JHi; 

learned, 
Till sciences or classics hold no lore 
He has not conned and studied, o'er and o'er, 
Is but a babe in wisdom, when compared 
Wit/i some unlettered wand'rer, who has shared 
The hospitalities of every land ; 



maurin: 



397 



Felt 



ch of bri 



in each proffered hand ; 
Made man his stcidy, and the world his college, 
And gained his grand epitome of knowledge 
Each human being has a heart and soul, 
And self is but an atom of the whole. 
I hold he is best learned and most wise 
Who best and most can love and sym|Mtlii,c. 
Book-wisdom makes us vain and scll'-Lont.iiiicd; 
Our banded minds go round In little gniDvcs 
But constant friction with the world remoics 
'I'hese iron foes to freedom, and wc rise 
To grander heiglits, and, all untrammelled, find 
A better atmosphere and clearer skies ; 
And through its broadened realm, no longer ciuined. 
Thought travels free!)-, leaving Self beliind. 
Where'er we chanced to ivanJcr or to roam. 
Glad letters came from Heltn ; happy thinj;<, 
Like little birds that follow on swift wings, 
Bringing their tender mesiagcs from home. 
Her days were poems, beautiful, complete. 
'I'he rhythm perfect, and the burden ueet. 
She was so happy— happy, and so blest. 



My heart h.id found contentment in that vear. 
With health restored, my liie seemed full of cheer. 
The heart of youth turns ever to the light ; 
Sorrov. aicd gloom in.i; curtain it li'.e ni?ht 



J9« 



MAURINE 



«'' 



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But, in its very anguish and unreit, 

It b»is and tcari the pall-likc foldi away, 

And finds again the sunlight of the day. 

And yet, despite the changes without measure, 
Despite sight-8c::iiig, round on round of pleasure ; 
Despite new friends, new suitors, still my heart 
Was conscious of a something lacking, where 
Love once had dwelt, and afterward despair. 
Now lovexvas buried ; and despair had flown 
Before the healthful zephyrs that had blown 
From heights serene and lofty j and the place 
Where both had dwelt was empty, voiceless space. 
And so I took my long-loved study, art, 
The dreary vacuum in my life to fill, 
And worked, and laboured, with a right good will. 
Aunt Ruth and I took rooms in Rome ; while Roy 
Lingered in Scotland, with his new-found joy, 
A dainty little lassie, Grace Kildare, 
Had snared him in her flossy, flaxen hair, 
And made him captive. 

We were thrown, by chance. 
In contact with her people while in France 
The previous season : she was wholly sweet 
And fair and gentle ; so naTve, and yet 
So womanly, she was at once the pet 
Of all our party ; and, ere many days. 
Won by her fresh face, and her artless ways. 



MAUklNK J99 

Roy fell a helplcij captive at her feet. 

Her home was in the Hislilands ; ind ihe came 

Of good old stock, of fair uiiiarniihed fame. 

Through all these monthi Roy had been trueasiieeli 

And by his every action made me feel 

He was my friend and brother, and r.o more, 

The same bigsouled and tru.,ty friend of yore. 

Vet, in my secret heart, I wished I knew 

Whether the love he felt one time was dead, 

Or only hidden, for my sake, from view. 

So when he came to me one day, and said, 

The velvet blackness of his eyes ashine 

With light of love and triumph : "Cousin, mine, 

Congratulate me ! She whom I adore 

Has pledged to me the promise of her hand ; 

Her heart I have already," I was glad 

With double gladness, for it freed my mind 

Of fear that he, in secret, might be sad. 

From March till June had left her moons behind, 
And merged her rose-red beauty in July, 
There was no message from my native land. 
Then came a few brief lines, by Vivian penned : 
Death had been near to Helen, but passed by ; 
The danger was now over. God was kind j 
The mother and the child were both alive j 
No other child was ever known to thrive 



400 



MAURINF. 



511: 



A. throve this one, nurs. I aH hccn h'.ird to say. 

The infant was a wonder, every way. 

And, at command of Helen, .he would ieud 

A lock of baby '« golden hair to me. 

And did I, on my honour, ever tee 

Such hair before f Helen would write, ere long • 

She gained quite ilowly, but would .oon be itroiig. 

Stronger than ever, lo the doctors said. 

I took the tiny ringlet, golden— fair, 

M.iyhap his hand had severed from the head 
Of his own child, and pressed it to my cheek 
And to my lips, and kissed it o'er and o'er. 
All my maternal instincts seemed to rise, 
And clamour for their rights, wni,^ ay wet eyes 
Rained tears upon the sillicii tress of hair. 
The woman struggled with her heart before I 
It was the mother in mc now did speak, 
Moaning, like Rachel, th.it her babes were not, 
And crying out against her barren lot. 

Once I bemoaned the long .nnd lonely years 

That stretched before me, dark with love's ecli| se j 

And thought how my unmaied heart would niiis 

The shelter of a broad and manly breast— 

The strong, bold arm— the tender clinging kiss— 

And all pure love's possessions, manifold ; 

But now I wept a flood of bitter tears. 

Thinking of little heads of shining golJ, 




ay. 



long : 

•iroiig. 



MAURINE 



ya 



>t, 



J|se J 



401 



That woulJ not on my bo om sink to rest ; 
Of little hinds tlut iv.juU not touch my check j 
or little li.ping voices and sweet lipi. 
That never in my Iiit'nin3 ear would ipcalt 
The blessed name of mother. 

Oh, in woman 
How mighty is the love of ofl^pring I Ere 
Unto her wond'ring, untajght mind unfolds 
The myst'ry that is half divine, half human, 
Of life and birth, the love of unborn souls 
Within her, and the mother-yearning creeps 
Through her warm heart, and stirs its hidden deeps, 
And grow, and strengthens with each riper year. 



Ai storms may gather in a pl-.cid sky, 
And spend their fury, and the 1 pass away, 
Leaving again the blue of cloudless day, 
K'cn so the tempest of my grief passed by. 
■Twat weak to m.,urn for wh.it [ had resigned, 
With the deliberate purpose of my r.iind, 
To my sweet friend. 

Relinquishing my love 
[ gave my dearest hope of joy to her. 
If God, from out His boundless store above. 
Had chosen added blessings to confer, 
I would rejoice, for her sake— not repine 
That th' immortal trcisures were not mine. 



'l^ 



ISfj 

it!! 



40i 



MAURINE 



I'ctter my lonely sorrow, than to know 
My fellish joy had been anothcr't woe ; 
Better my grief and my strength to control, 
Than the despair of i.-r frail-bodied soul ; 
Better to go on, loveless, to the end, 
Than wear love'i rose, whose thorn had slain my 
friend. 



Work is the salve that heals the wounded heart. 
With will most resolute I set my aim 
To enter on the weary race for Fame, 
And if I failed to climb the dizzy height, 
To reach some point of eicellence in art 



fl'1 



E'en as the Mater held earth incomplete, 
Till man was formed, and placed upon the suj. 
The perfect, living image of his God, 
All landscape scenes were lacking in my sight, 
Wherein the human figure had no part. 
In that, all lines f symmetry did meet- 
All hues of beauty mingle. So I brought 
Enthusiasm in abundance, thought, 
Much study, and some talent, day by day. 
To help me in my efforts to portray 
The wond'rous power, majesty and grace 
Stamped on some form, or looking from some lac 
This was to be my specialty : To takr 
Human emotion for my theme, and make 



MAURINE 403 

The unassisted form divine exprcsi 
Anger or Sorrow, Pleasure, Pain, Distress ; 
And thus to build Fame's monument above 
The grave of ray departed hope and love. 
This is not Genius. Genius spreads its wings 
And soars beyond itself, or selfish things. 
Talent has need of stepping-stones : some cross. 
Some cheated purpose, some great pain or loss, 
Must by the groundwork, and arouse ambition, 
Before it labours onward to fruition. 



id, 



But, as the lark from beds of bloom will rise 
And sail and sing among the very skies. 
Still mounting near and nearer to the light, 
Impelled alone by love of upward flight. 
So Genius soars — it does not need to climb — 
Upon God-given wings, to heights sublime. 
Some sportsman's shot, grazing the singer's throat, 
Some venomous assault of birds of prey. 
May speed its flight toward the realm of day. 
And tinge with triumph every liquid note. 
So deathless Genius mounts but higher yet. 
When Strife and Envy think to slay or fret. 



There is no balking Genius. Only death 
Can silence it, or hinder. While there's breath 
Or sense of feeling, it will spurn tlie sod, 
And lift itself to glory, and to God. 



ill 



f04 



MAURINE 



The acorn sprouted — weeds nor flowers c.in choke 
The certain growth of th' uprc.iching oak. 

Talent was mine, not Genius ; and my mind 
Seemed bound hv chains, and would not leave behind 
Its selfish love and sorrow. 

Did I strive 
To picture sonic emotion, lo I /-is eyes, 
Of emcr.-ild beauty, dark as ocean dyes. 
Looked from ihi canvas : and my buried pain 
Rose from its grave, and stood by me alive. 
Whate'er my subject, in some hue or line, 
The glorious beauty of his face would shine. 

So for a time my labour seemed in vain, 
Since it but freshened, and made keener yet, 
The grief my heart was striving to forget. 

While in his form all strength and magnitude 
With grace and supple sinews uere entwined, 
While in his face all beauties were combined 
Of perfect features, intellect and truth. 
With all that fine rich colouring of youth, 
How could my brush portray aught good or fair 
Wherein no fata! likeness should intrude 
Of him my soul had worshipped .' 

But, at last, 
Setting a watch upon my unwise heart, 
That thus would mix its sorrow with my art. 



I resolutely shut away i!ie past, 
And made the toilsome present passing bright 
With dreams of what was hidden from my sight 
In the fir distant future, when the soil 
Should yield me jolden fruit for all my toil. 



40; 



PART VII 

With much hard labour and some pleasure frau<'ht, 
The months rolled by me noiselessly, that taught 
My hand to grow more skilful in its art, 
Strengthened my daring dream of fame, and t. ought 
Sweet hope and resignation to my heart. 

Brief letters came from Helen, now and then : 

She was quite well— oh yes ! quite well, indeed ! 

But still so weak and nervous, liy-and-by. 

When baby, being older, should not need 

Such constant care, she would grow strong again. 

She was as happy as a soul could be ; 

No least cloud hovered in her azure sky ; 

She had not thought life held such depths of bliis. 

Dear baby sent Maurinc a loving kiss. 

And said she was a naughty, naughty girl, 

Not to come home and sec ma's little pearl. 

No gift of costly jewels, or of gold, 

Had been so precious or so dear to me, 

As each brief line wherein her joy was told. 

27 



"h il 



1^1 



;l 



II 



11'^ 



W: 



4.06 



MAURINE 



It lightened toil, and took the edge from pain, 
Knowing my sacrifice was not in vain. 

Roy purchased fine estates in Scotland, where 
He built a pretty villa-lilce retreat. 
And when the Roman Summer's languid heat 
Made work a punishment, I turned my face 
Toward the Highlands, and with Roy and Grace 
Found rest and freedom from all thought and care. 

I was a willing worker. Not an hour 
Passed idly by me : each, I would employ 
To some good purpose, ere it glided on 
To swell the tide of hours for ever gone. 
My first completed picture, known as "Joy," 
Won pleasant words of praise. " Possesses power," 
" Displays much talent," " Very fairly done." 
So fell the comments on my grateful ear. 

Swift in the wake of Joy, and always near. 
Walks her sad sister Sorrow. So my brush 
Began depicting Sorrow, heavy-eyed. 
With pallid visage, ere the rosy flush 
Upon the beaming face of Joy had dried. 
The careful study of long months, it won 
Golden opinions ; even bringing forth 
That certain sign of merit — a critique 
Which set i/oth pieces down as daubs, and weak 
Ai empty heads that sang their praises — so 



'H 



MAURINE 



407 



Proving conclusively the pictures' worth. 
'I'hese critics and reviewers do not use 
Their precious ammunition to abuse 
A worthless work. That, left alone, they know 
Will find its proper level ; and they aim 
Their batteries at rising works which claim 
Too much of public notice. But this shot 
Resulted only in some noise, which brougly 
A dozen people, where one came bctbrc. 
To view my pictures ; and I had my houi 
Of holding those frail baubles, Fame and I'ow'r. 
An English Baron who had lived two store 
Of his allotted three score years and ten 
Bought both the pieces. He was very kind, 
And so attentive, I, not being blind. 
Must understand his meaning. 

Therefore, when 
He said, 

" Sweet friend, whom I would make my wife, 
The ' Joy ' and ' Sorrow ' this dear hand portrayed 
I have in my possession : now resign 
Into my careful keeping, and make mine. 

The joy and sorrow of your future life," 

I was prepared to answer, but delayed, 
Grown undecided suddenly. 

My mind 
Argued the matter coolly pro and con. 
And made resolve to speed his wooing on 



It 



4o8 



MAURINE 



m 



Ami grant him favour. He w.is good anJ kind ; 

Not )oung, no doubt he would be quite tonttiit 

With my respect, nor miss an ardent love ; 

Could give mc tics of family and home j 
And then, perhaps, my mind was not above 
Setting some value on a titled name — 
Ambitious woman's weakness I 

Then my art 
Would be encouraged and pursued the same. 
And I could spend my winters all in Rome. 
Love never more could touch my wasteful hc.trt 
That all its wealth upon one object spent. 
Existence would be very bleak and cold, 
After long years, when I was grey and old, 
With neither Jiome nor children. 

Once a wife, 
I virould forget the sorrow of my life, 
And pile new sods upon the grave of pain. 
My mind so argued ; and my sad heart heard, 
But made no comment. 

Then the Baron spoke. 
And waited for my answer. AU in vain 
I strove for strength to utter that one word 

My mind dictated. Moments rolled away 

Until at last my torpid heart awoke, 
And forced my trembling lips to say him nay. 
And then my eyes with sudden tears o'erran, 
In pity for myself and for this man 






MAURINE 



4f-g 



W.'io stood leiorc mc, lost in pained uirprisc. 

"Dear friend," I cried, "dear generous friend, forgi\ 

A troubled woman's weakness ! As I live. 

In truth I meant to answer otherwise. 

From out its store, my heart can give you no- jht 

But honour and respect ; and yet met!.- M^ht 

I would give willing ;inswcr, did you <ii-. 

But now I know 'twere cruel wrong I p;:in;ied 

Taking a heart that ticut with love most true, 
And giving in exchange an empty hand. 
Who weds for love alone, may not be wi<e : 
Who wed; without it, angels must dcspi.e. 

Love and respect together must combine 

To render maniage holy and divine ; 

And lack of either, sure as Fate, dcsirovs 

Continuation of the nuptial joys, 

And brings regret, and gloomy discontent 

To put to rout each tender sentiment. 

Nay, nay I I will not burden all your liie 

By that possession — an unloving wife ; 

Nor will I take the sin upon my soul 

Of wedding where my heart goes not in whole. 

However bleak may be my single lot, 

I will not stain my life with such a blot. 

Dear friend, fareweil ! the earth is very wide ; 

It holds some fairer woman for your bride • 

I would I had a heart to give to you. 

But, larking it, can only say— adieu !" 



410 



MAURINE 



He whom temptation never has assailed, 
Knows not that subtle sense of moral strength j 
When sorely tricJ, we waver, but at length, 
Rise up and turn away, not having failed. 



The Autumn of the third year came and went ; 

The mild Italian winter was half spent. 

When this brief message came across the sea : 

" My darling! F am dying. Come to me. 

Love, which so long the growing truth concealed, 

Stands pale within its shadow. Oh, my sweet ! 

This heart of mine grows fainter with each beat — 

Dying with very weight of bliss. Oh, come ! 

And take the legacy I leave to you, 

Before these lips for evermore are dumb. 

In life or death, — Yours, Helen Daiigcrficld." 

This plsintive letter bore a month old date ; 

And, wild with fesrs lest I had come too Lite, 

1 bade the old world and new friends adieu. 

And with Aunt Ruth, who long had sighed for home, 

I turned my back on glory, art, and Rome. 




All selfish thoughts were merged in one wild fear 
That she for whose dear sake my heart had bled, 
Rather than her sweet eyes should know one tear, 
Was passing from me j that she might be dead ; 



MAURINE 

And, dying, haJ been sorely grieved with me. 
Rrcause I made no answer to her plea, 

" O, ship, that sailest slowly, slowly on 
Make haste before a wasting life is gone ! 
Make haste tli.it I may catth a fl';eting breath ! 
And true in life, be true e'en unto death. 

" O, ship, sail on 1 and bear n-.e o'er the tide 
To her for whom my womnn's heart once died. 
Sail, sail, O, ship ! fur she hath need of me. 
And I would know what her last wish may be ! 
I have been true, lo true, through all the past. 
Sail, sail, O, ship ! I would not fail at labt." 



4" 



So prayed my heart still o'er and ever o'er, 
Until the weary lagging ship reached shore. 
.\]\ sad with fears that I had come too late. 
By that strange source whence men communicate, 
Though miles on miles of space between them lie, 
I spoke with Vivian ; " Does she live .' Reply." 
The answer came. " She lives, but hasten, friend I 
Her journey draweth swiftly to its end." 

Ah me ! ah me ! when each remembered spot, 
My own dear home, the lane that led to his — 
The fields, the woods, the lake, burst on my sight, 
Oh ! then. Self rose up in asserting might ; 
Oh, Sen, my bursting heart all else forgot, 



4«» 



MALRiNK 




But those sweet citlyycar of lost ilcliglit. 
Of ho} e, dcl'car, of . ngiusli and of bliss. 

I have a tlicury, vague, undcl^ncd, 

That each emotion of the human mind. 

Love, pain or pa=sion, fcrrow or despair, 

Is a live spirit, dwelling in the air, 

I'litii it takes possessii.') of some Ircaat ; 

A: .'. when at length, grown weary of unrct, 

We rise up strong and cast it from the heart. 

And bid it leave us wholly, and depart, 

It does not die, it cannot die ; but goes 

And mingles with some restless wind that blows 

About the region where it had its birth. 

And though we wander over all the earth. 

That spirit waits, and lingers, year by ye.ir. 

Invisible and clothed like the air. 

Moping that we may yet again dr.iw near. 

And it may haply take us unaware, 

And once more find s.ife shelter in the breast 

It stirred of old with pleasure or unrest. 




Told by my heart, and wholly positive. 
Some old emotion long had ceased to live ; 
That, were it called, it could not hear or come, 
Because it was so voiceless and so dumb, 
Yet, passing where it first sprang into life, 
My very soul has sudc ly been ril« 



4'J 



MACIUN'r. 

With .ill the ..;a inicr-.sity of iVc-I'iig, 
It sccmcil a living spirit, which i.vi;e stealing 
Into tiiy heart t'rum that ilcpartcj d.iy j 
F,;-iKJ ci-io;',i:i, which I fancied cla/. 



So now into iny troublcil heart, ,ibove 
The prcent's pain and sorrow, crept the love 
And s rife and p.ijsinn of a li;g..iie hour 
Possessed of all their olden might and power. 
'Twas but a moment, and the sycU was broken 
By pleasant words of greeting, gcniiy spoken, 
And Vivian stood b.f'ore us. 

Tut I saw 
In him the husband of my friend .ilone. 
The old emotions might at times return. 
And smould'ring fires leap up an hour and burn ; 
But never yet had I transgressed God's law, 
By looking on the man I had resi^jiied, 
With any hidden feeling in my mind, 
Which she, his wife, my friend, might not have k;Mwn 
He was but little altered. Froir his face 
The nonchalant and almost haughty grace, 
The lurking laughter waiting in his eyes. 
The years had stolen, leaving in their place 
A settled sadness, which w.as not despair. 
Nor was it gloom, nor weariness, nor care, 
But something like the vapour o'er the skits 
Oi Indian summer, beautiful to sec, 



i 



4"4 



MAURINE 



1-''! T'-^c „n>..t., wMch had hcen and wouM be 

rhcrewa, thitinhisfarcwhid, cnmethnot 
.»■<; .vficn the ,o.,l h« many a b,ttle Cou.ht, 
\nd conq-crcd .elf by const.nt Mcrifice. 



T'lcre .re f.-o sculinor., who, with chisel, Hn, 
KcnJcr the plainest features half divine 
■W other ani,t. strive and strive in v.in, 
1 u picture beauty perfect and complete, 
rhcir statues only crumble at their feet, 
Without the master t ,iich of Faith and IM„ 
And now hi, face, that perfect seemed before. 
Chiselled by these two careful artists, were 
A look exalted, which the spirit gives 
When soul has conquered, and the bod, live, 
Siibherviciit to Its bidding;. 







In a room 
Which curtained out the February gloom. 
And, redolent with perfume, bright with 'fi,;u~ 
Rested the eye like one of Summer's bowers 
I found my Helen, who was less mine now ' 
I han Death's j for on the marble of her bn.w 
His seal uas stamped indelibly. 

„. ,-, , ^^" fo™ 

W ,s like the slender willow, when some storm 
Has itripped it bore of foliage. Her face 



MAURINE 



nu'd be. 
't. 

it. 



4'i 



P»Ie ahvjy., no«- wa> ghaitly in iti h„t ; 
And. like two lamp,, in ,ome dark. l,„i;o,v pl,cc 
iurnc. her Urje eye., grown more in.cn,elv blue 
Mcr Irag.le Land. dispUyed eacl, cord and vein, 
Andonl,ermo,Hhw..,ha,drawnl„„k,of,.,in 
WiMch IS not uttered. Yet a„ inward light 
Sho.e th'ough and nude her wa.tcd Tcatures t>r..i,t 
\V.eh an unearthly beauty; and an awe 
Crept o'er me, gazing on her, for I saw 
She W.U 10 near to Heaven that J ,e-.„cd 
To look upon the face of one redeemed 
Sl.c turned the brilliant lustre ot her e)e. 
Upon me. She had passed beyond sur, ;i,c, 
(Jr any strong emotion linked with cLiy. 
Hut as 1 glided to her where she lay, 
A smile, >e'estial i„ it, sweetness, wreathed 
Her palhd fe.uures. ..Wela,„,e home I" she brcthej 

And like the dying echo of a voice 

Were her faint tones that thrilled upon my ear. 

I fell upon my knees beside her bed j 
All agonies within m^ heart were wed. 
Wh,le to the aching numbne.s of my grief 
Mine eyes refused the solace of a tear— ' 
1 he tortured soul's most merciful reli f. 
Her wasted hand care -ed mv bended head 
J-or one sad, sacred moment. Then .| - .^id 



4i6 



MAURINE 



In that low tone so like the wind's refrain, 
" Mauri le, my own ! give not away to pain ; 
The time is precious. Ere another dawn 
My soul may hear the summons and pass on. 
Arise, sweet sister ! rest a little while, 
And when refrcs.'ie.l, come hither. 1 grow weak 
With every hour thit pas cs. I must speak 
And make my dying wishes kiiown to-nig!it. 
Go now." And in the halo ol her smile, 
Which seemed to fill the room with golJcn li^ht, 
I turned and left her. 

L.itcr, in the gloom 
Of coming night, I entered that dim room. 
And sat down by her. \-ivian held her hand : 
Aad on the pillow at her sidi there smiled 
The beauteous count'nance of a sleeping child. 

"Maurine," spoke Helen, "for three blisiful years, 

My he,irt has dwelt in an enchanted land ; 

And I have drank the sweetened cup of jov, 

Without one drop of anguish or alloy. 

And so, ere Pain embitters it with gall 

Or sad-eyed Sorrow fills it full of tears 

And bids me quaf; which is the faie of all 

Who linger long upon this troubled way, 

God takes me to the realm of Endless Dav, 

To mingle uith His angels, who alone 

Can understand such bliss as I have known. 



MA URINE 



4>7 



I do not murmur. God has h«pcd mv measure, 
In three short years, full to the brim >vitli p!e.s...,c • 
And, from the fulness of an earthly love, 
I pass to th' Immortal Arms above, 
Before I even brush the skirts of VVoe. 

" I leave my aged parents here below. 
With none to comfort them. M.urine, sweet friend . 
Be kmd to them, and love them to the end. 
Which may not be far distant. 

And I leave 
A soul immortal in your charge, Maurine. 
From this most holy, sad and sacred eve. 
Till God shall claim her, she is yours to 'keep, 
To love and shelter, to protect and guide." 
She touched the slumb'ring cherub at her sid:, 
And Vivian gently bore her, still asleep, 
And laid the precious burden on my breast. 

A solemn silence fell upon the scene. 

And when the sleejung infant smiled, and pressed 

My yielding bosom with her waxen check, 

I felt it would be sacrilege to speak, 

Such wordless joy possessed me. 

Ti,- • r , °'' ' »' '"' 

lliu infant, who, in that tear-blotted past. 

Had caused my soul such travail, was my own : 

Through all the lonely coming years to be 



418 



MAURINE 



Mine own to cherish— wholly mine alone. 
And what I mourned so hopelessly as lost 
Was now restored, and given back to me. 

The dying voice continued : 

" In this child 
You yet have me, whose mortal life she cost. 
But all that was most pure and undeliltd. 
And good within me, lives in her again. 
Maurine, my husband loves me ; yet I know, 
Moving about the wide world, to and fro. 
And through, and in the busy haunts of men, 
Not always will his heart be dumb with woe, 
But sometime waken to a later love. 
Nay, Vivian, hush ! my soul has passed above 
All selfish feelings ! I wo'ild have it so. 
While I am with the angels, blest and glad, 
I would not have you sorrowing and sad, 
In loneliness go mourning to the end. 
But, love ! I could not trust to any other 
The sacred office of a foster-mother 
To this sweet cherub, save my own heart-friend. 



II' ' 
111 f 



"Teach her to love her father's name, Maurine, 
Where'er he wanders. Keep my memory green 
In her young heart, and lead her in her youth. 
To drink from th' eternal fount of Truth : 



MAURiNE 

Vex her not with sectarian discourse, 
Nor strive to teach her piety by force; 
Ply not her minj with harsh and narrow creeds, 
Nor frighten her with an avenging God, 
Who rules His subjects with a burning rod ; 
But teach her that each mortal si, up), needs 
To grow in hate of hate and love of love, 
To gain a kingdom in the courts above. 

" Let her be free and natural as the flowers. 
That smile and nod throughout the sum:n;r hours 
Let her rejoice in all the joys of youth, 
But first impress upon her mind this truth : 
No lasting happiness is e'er attained 
Save when the heart some tther seeks to please. 
The cup of selfish pleasures soon is drained, 
And full of gall and bitterness the lees. 
Next to her God, teach her to love her land ; 
In her young bosom light the patriot's flame 
Until the heart within her shall expand 
With love and fervour at her country's name. 

" No coward-mother bears a valiant son. 
And this, my last wish, is an earnest one. 

Maurine, my o'er-taxed strength is waning ; you 
Have heard my wishes, and you will be true 
In death as you have been in life, my own I 
Now leave me for a little while alone 



4'9 



420 



MAURI NE 



With liini— my husband. Dear love ! I ihjil rest 
So sweetly with no care upon my breast. 
Good-ni^' ■ Mjurinc, come to mc in the morning." 



But lo ! the BriJ.groom with no further warning 
Came for her at the dawning of the day. 
?he heard His voice, and smiled, and passed away 
Without a struggle. 

Leaning o'er her bed 
To give her greeting, J found but her clay. 
And Vivian bowed beside it. 

And I said, 
" Dear friend ! my soul shall treasure thy request. 
And when the night of fever and unrest 
Melts in the morning of Eternity, 
Like a freed bird, then I will come to thee. 



"I will come to thee in the morning, sweet I 
I have been true ; and soul with soul shall meet. 
Before God's throne, and shall not be afraid. 
Thou gav'st me trust, and it was not betravcd. 



" I will come to thee in the morning, dear ! 
The night is dark. I do not know how near 
The morn may be of that Eternal Day ; 
I can but keep my faithful watch and pray. 



MAURINE 

" I will come to thee in the morning, love I 
Wait for me on the Eternal Heights above. 
The way is troubled where my feet must climb. 
Ere I shall tread the mountain-top sublime. 

I will come in the morning, O mine own ; 



4»» 



But for 



a time must grope my way alone. 



Through tears and sorrow, till the Day shall dawn, 
And I shall hear the summons, and pass on. 

" I will come in the morning. Rest secure ! 
My hope is certain and my faith is sure. 
After the gloom and darkness of the night 
I *'ill come to thee with the morning light." 
♦ ♦ » * » 

Three peaceful years slipped silently away. 

We dwelt together in my childhood's home, 

Aunt Ruth and I, and sunny-hearted May. 

She was a fair and most exquisite child ; 

Her pensive face was delicate and mild 

Like her dead mother's ; but through her dear eyes 

Her father smiled upon me, day by day. 

Afar in foreign countries did he roam. 

Now resting under Italy's blue skies, 

And now with Roy in Scotland. 

And he sent 
Brief, friendly letters, telling where he went 




4" 



MAURINE 



And what he saw, addressed to M<y or mc, 

And I would write and tell him how she grew 

And how she talked about him o'er the sea 

In her sweet baby fashion; how she knew 

His picture in the album j how each day 

She knelt and prayed the blessed Lord would bring 

Her own papa back to his little May. 

It was a warm bright morning in the Spring. 
I sat in that same sunny portico^ 
Where I wa^ sitting seven years ago 
When Vivian came. My eyes were full of tears, 
As I looked back across the checkered years. 
How many were the changes they had brought ! 
Pain, death, and sorrow I but the lesson taught 
To my young heart had been of untold worth. 

I had learned how to " suffer and grow strong " 

That knowledge which best serves us here on earth, 
And brings reward in Heaven. 

Oh I how long 
The years had been since that June morning when 
I heard his step upon the walk, and yet 
I seemed to hear its echo still. 

Just then 
Down that same path I turned my eyes, tear-wet. 
And lo 1 the wanderer from a foreign land 
Stood there before me I — holding out his hand 
And smiling with those wond'rous eyes of old. 



MAURINE 



4M 



To hide my tears, I ran and brought hii child ; 
But she was shy, and clung to me, when told 
This was papa, for whom her prayers were said. 
She dropped her eyes and shook her little liead. 
And would not by his coaxing be beguiled. 
Or go to him. 

Aunt Ruth was not at home. 
And we two sat and talked, as strangers might. 
Of distant countries which we both had seen. 
But once I thought I saw his large eyes light 
With sudden passion, when there came a pause 
In our chit-chat, and then he spoke : 

"Maurine, 
I saw a number of your friends in Rome. 
We talked of you. They seemed surprised, because 
You were not 'mong the seekers for a name. 
They thought your whole ambition was for fame." 

" It might have been," I answered, " when my heart 

Had nothing else to fill it. Now my art 

Is but a recreation. I have this 

To love and live for, which I had not then." 

And, leaning down, I pressed a tender kiss 

Upon my child's fair b,ow. 



li 



"And yet," he said, 
The old light leaping to his eyes again, 
" And yet, Maurine, they say you might have wed 



4*4 



MAURINE 



A roble Baron I one of many men 
Who laid their hearts and fortunes at your feet 
Why won the bravest of them no return ?" 
I bowed my head, nor dared his gaze to meet. 
On cheek and brow I felt the red blood burn. 
And strong emotion strangled speech. 

lie rose 
And came and knelt beside me. 

" Sweet, my sweet !" 
He murmured softly, " God in Heaven knows 
How well I loved you seven years ago. 
He only knows my anguish, and my grief, 
When your own ac.s forced on me the belief 
That I had been your plaything and your toy. 
Yet from his lips I since have learned that Roy 
Held no place nearer than a friend and brother. 
And then a faint suspicion, undefined, 
Of what had been — was — might be, stirred my mind. 
And that great love, I thought died at a blow. 
Rose up within me, strong with hope and life. 

" Before all heaven and the angel mother 

Of this sweet child that slumbers on your heart, 

Maurine, Maurine, I claim you for my wife 

Mine own, for ever, until death shall part !" 



Through happy mists of upward welling tears, 
I leaned, and looked into his beauteous eyes. 



mind. 



MAURINE 



♦»S 



" Dear hetrt," I «id, " if the who dwells above 
Looks down upon us, from yon azure ikies, 
She can but bless us, knowing all these years 
My soul had yearned in silence for the love 
That crowned her life, and left mine own 50 bleak. 
I turned you from me for her fair, frail sake. 
For her sweet child's, and for my own, I take 
You back to be all mine, for evermore." 

Just then the child upon my breast awoke 
From her light sleep, and laid her downy check 
Against her father as he knelt by me. 
And this unconscious action seemed to be 
A silent blessing, which the mother spoke 
Gazing upon us from the myitic shore. 



4 = 6 



dust-seali:d 






DUST-SEALF.D 

I KNOW not wherefore, but mine cjcs 
See bloom, where other eyes see blijht. 
They find a rainbow, a sunrise, 

Where others but discern deep night. 



Men call me an enthusiast, 

And say I look through gilded ha/i.- : 
Because where'er my gaze is cast, 

I see something that calls for pniic. 



I say, " Behold those lovely eyes — 

That tinted check of flowcr-likc rmcc.'' 

They answer in amused surprise : 
"We thought it a common fate." 

I say, " Was ivet seen more fair ( 
1 seem to walk in Eden's bowc.;." 

1 ^y answer, with a pitying air, 
"The weeds are choking out the flowers." 



I know not wherefore, but God iciit 
A deeper vision to my sight. 

On whatsoe'er my g,i7e is bent 
I catch the beauty Infinite ; 



"ADVICE" 

That underlying, hidden half 
Tliat all thingi hold of Deity. 

So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh— 
Their cycj are blind, they cannot lee. 



4»7 



"ADVICE" 

I MUST do as you do > Your way I own 
Is a very good way. And still, 
■i-iicre are sometimes two straight roads to a town, 
One over, one under the hill. 

You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, 
That the prudent choose each time ; 

And you think me reckless and rash to-day, 
Because I prefer to climb. 

Your path is the right one, and so is mne 

Wc are not like peas in a pod. 
Compelled to lie in a certain line, 

Or else be scattered abroad. 

'Twere a dull old world, methinfcs, my friend, 

If we all went just one way ; 
Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end. 

Though they lead apart to-day. 



4»8 « ADVICE " 

You like the ihade, and I like the »un | 

You like an even pac, 
I like to mix with the crowd and run, 

And thru test after the race. 



I like danger, and storm and strife. 

You like a peaceful time ; 
I like the passion and surge of life, 

You like its gentle rhyme. 

You like buttercups, dewy sweet. 
And crocuses, fr.imcd in snow j 

1 like roses, born of the heat, 
And the red carnation's glow. 

I must live my life, not yours, my friend, 

For so it was written down ; 
We must follow our given paths to the end, 

But I trust we shall meet— in town. 




OVER THE BANISTERS 

OVER the banisters bends a face, 
Daringly sweet and beguiling. 
Somebody standi in careless grace 
And watching the picture, smiling. 



OVER THE BANISTERS 

The light burni dim in the hall below, 

Nobojy seei her standing, 
Saying good-night ag.iin, soft anH low, 

Halfway up to the landing. 

Nobody only the eyei of brown, 

Tender and full of meaning. 
That smile on the fairest face in town, 

Over the bani^lers leaning. 

Tired and sleepy, with drooping head, 

I Wonder why she lingers j 
Now, when the good-nights all ate said, 

VVliy, somebody holds her fingers. 

He holds her fingers and draws her down, 

Suddenly growing bolder, 
Till the loose hair drops its masses brown 

Like a mantle over his shoulder. 

Over the banisters soft hands, fair, 

Urush his checks like a feather, 
And bright brown tresses .ind dusky hair 

Meet an-l mingle together. 

There's a question asked, thcr/s a swift caress, 
She has flown like a bird from the hallway. 

But over the banisters drops a " Yes " 
That shall brighten the world for him alway. 



419 



43° 



THE PAST 



THE PAST 

I FLING my past behind me like a robe 
Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date. 
I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep 
And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes 
Of Oriental splendour, or complain 
That I must needs discard k} I can weave 
Upon the shuttles of the future years 
A fabric far more durable. Subdued, 
It may be, in the b'ending of its hues. 
Where sombre shades commingle, yet t'le gleam 
Of golden warp shall slioot it through and through. 
While over all a fadeless lustre lies, 
And starred with gems made out of crystalled teatj, 
My new robe shall be richer tlian the olJ. 



SECRETS 

THINK not some knowledge rests with thee 
alone -, 
Why, even God's stupendous secret. Death, 
We one by one, with our expiring breath. 
Do pale with wonder seize and make our own ; 
The bosomed treasu es of the earth are shown. 
Despite her careful hidini; ; and the air 
Yields its mysterious marvels in despair 



APPLAUSE 

Tojwell the mighty store-house of things known. 

In vain the sea expostulates and raves ; 

It cannot cover from the keen world's sight 
The curious wonders of its coral caves. 

And so, despite thy caution or thy tears, 

'1 he prying fingers of detective years 
Shall drag thy secret out into the light. 



4JI 



APPLAfSE 

T HOLD it onr of the sad certain laws 

X Which makes our failures sometime seem more kind 

Than that succcr. which brings sure loss behind 

True greatness dies, when sounds the world's applause 
Fame blighti the object it would bless, because 

Weighed down with men's expectancy, the mind 

Cm no more soar to those far heights, and find 
That freedom which its inspiration was. 
Wneii once we listen to its noisy cheers 

Or h;ar the populaca' approval, then 
We catch no more the music of the spheres. 

Or walk with gods, and angsis, but with men. 
Till, impoteiit from our self-conscious fears. 
The pLuidits of the world turn into sneers. 



jiii: 



''ii 



i^ 



431 THE STORY 



THE STORY 

THEY met each other in the glale — 
She lifted up her eyes ; 
Alack the day 1 Alack the maid ! 

She blushed in swift surpri'ie. 
Alasl alasl the wje that comes from lifting up the e;-e!. 

The pail Was full, the path was steep — 

He reached to her hi-> hand ; 
She felt her warm young pulses leap, 

But did not understand. 
Alas ! alas ! the woe that comes from clasping hand 
with hand. 



She sat beside him in the wood — 

He wooed with words and sighs j 
Ah ! love in Spring seems sweet and good, 

And maidens are not wise. 
Alas I alas ! the woe that comes from listing lovers' sighs. 

The summer sun shone fairly down, 

The wind blew from the south ; 
As blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown, 

His kiss fell on her mouth. 
Alas ! alas ! the woe that comes from kisses on the 
mouth. 



M:J.. 



LEAN DOWN 



43J 



And now the autumn time is near, 

The lover roves away, 
With breaking heirt and falling tear. 

She sits the livelong day. 
Alas ! alas I tor breaking hearts vfhen lovers rove 
away. 



LEAN DOWN 

LEAN down and lift me higher, Josephine ! 
From the Eternal Hills hast thou not seen 
How I do strive for heights? but,lacking wings, 
I cannot grasp at once those better things 
To which 1 in my inmost soul aspire. 
Lean down and lift me higher. 

I grope along — not desolate or sad, 

For youth and hope and health all keep me glad ; 

But too bright sunlight, sometimes, makes us blind, 

And I do grope for heights I cannot find. 

Oh, thou must know my one supreme desire — 

Lean down and lift me higher. 

Not long ago we trod the self-same way. 
Thou knowest how, from day to fleeting day 
Our souls were vexed with trifles, and our feet 
Were lured aside to by-paths which seemed sweet, 
But only served to hinder and to tire ; 
Lean down and lift me higher, 



+H 



LIFK 



Thou hast gone onward to the heights serene, 
And left me here, my loved one, Josephine ; 
I am content to stay until the end, 
For life is full of promise ; but, my friend, 
Canst thou not help me in my best desire 
And lean, and lift me higher ? 

Frail as thou wert, thou hast grown strong and wise, 

And quic- to understand and sympathize 

With all a full soul's needs. It must be so. 

Thy year with God hath made thee great, I know 

Thou must see how I struggle and aspire — 

Oh, warm me with a breath of heavenly fire, 

And lean, and lift me higher. 



LIFE 

IFF.F.L the great immensity of life. 
All little aims slip from me, and I reach 
My yearning soul toward the Infinite. 
As when a mighty forest, whose green leaves 
Have shut it in, and made it seem a bower 
For lovers' secrets, or for children's sports. 
Casts all its clustering foliage to the winds, 
And lets the eye behold it, limitless. 
And full of winding mysteries of ways : 
So now with life that reaches out before. 
And borders on the unexplained Beyond. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER 435 

I tee the stars above me, world on world : 
I hear the awfu! Imguage of all Sp,ice ; 
I feci the distant surging of great seas. 
That hide the secrets of the Universe 
In their eternal bosoms ; and I know 
That I am but an atom of the Whole. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER 

THOU Christ of mine, Thy gracious ear low 
bending 
Through these glad New Year days. 
To catch the countless prayers to heaven ascending — 

For e'en hard hearts do raise 
Some secret wish for fame, or gold, or power. 

Or freedom from all care — 
Dear, patient Christ, who listeneth hour on hour. 
Hear now a Christian's prayer. 



Let this young year that, silent, walks beside me. 

Be as a means of grace 
To lead me up, no matter what betide me. 

Nearer the Master's face. 
If it need be that ere I reach the Fountain 

Where living waters play. 
My feet should bleed from sharp stones on the 
mountain. 

Then cast them in my way. 



♦36 



IN THE NIGHT 






If my Villi soul necJs blows and bitter lo5se» 

To shape it for Thy crown, 
Then bruise it, burn it, burden it with crosses, 

With sorrows bear it down. 
Do what Thou wilt to mould me to Thy plea-ure. 

And if I should complain. 
Heap full of anguish yet another measure 

Until I smile at pain. 
Send dapgers-deaths! but tell me how to dare them ; 

Enfold me in Thy care. 
Send trials, tears I but give me strength to bear them- 

This is a Christian's prayer. 



IN THE NIGHT 

SOMETIMES at night, when I sit and write, 
I hear the strangest things,— 
As my brain grows hot with burning thought, 

Tha' struggles for form and wn.gs, 
I can hear the beat of my swift blood's feet. 

As it speeds with a rush and a whir 
From heart to brain and back again. 
Like a racc-horee under the spur. 

With roy soul's fine ear I listen and hear 

The tender Silence speak. 
As it leans on the breast of Night to rest, 

And presses his dusky cheek. 



IN THE NIGHT 437 

And the darkness turns in its sleep, and yearns 

For something that is kin j 
And I hear the hiss of a scorching kiss, 

As it folds and fondles Sin. 

In its hurrying race through leagues of space, 

I can hear the Earth catch breath, 
As it heaves and moans, and shudders and groans. 

And longs for the rest of Death. 
And high and far, from a distant star. 

Whose name is unknown to me, 
I hear a voice that says, " Rejoice, 

For I keep ward o'er thcc !" 

Oh, sweet and strange are tlie sounds that range 

Through the chambers of the night ; 
And the watcher who waits by the dim, dark gates 

May hear, if he lists aright. 



A MARCH SNOW 

LET the old snow be covered with the new ; 
The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and 
sodden. 
Let it be hidden wholly from our view 

By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden. 
When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet. 
Let him be mantled in a cleLin, white sheet. 



♦ 38 



^^Ht 




i 


ll 




^B 


i, 

1 
1 




i 




i> 


j 




1 > 

'! « 


1 


r 


1 


L 


1 


'■* 



PHILOSOPHY 

Let the old life be covered by the new : 

The old past life so full of sad mistakes, 
Let it be wholly hidden from the view 

By deeds as white and silent as snow-Hakes. 
Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring 
Let the white mantle of repentance fling 
Soft drapery about it, fold on fold. 
Even M the new snow covers up the old. 



PHILOSOPHY 

AT morn the wise man walked abroad, 
Proud with the learning of grc.it fools. 
He laughed and said, "There is no God— 

'Tis force creates, 'tis reason rules." 
Meek with the wisdom of great faith, 

At night he knelt while angels smiled, 

And wept and cried with anguished bre.ith, 

"Jehovah, GcJ, save Thou my child." 



"CARLOS" 

LAST night 1 knelt low at my lady's 1. 
One soft, caressing hand played «ith r,y ha.r, 
And one 1 kissed and fondled. Kneeling there, 
I deemed my meed of happiness complete. 



4?9 



ols. 



■i)- hair, 
lere, 



"CARLOS" 

She «-.n so f'jir, jo full of witching vvilci 

Ot liiciiiiting tricks of mouth a;id eye ; 

So womanly withal, but not too shy — 

And all my heaven was compassed by her imilcs. 

Her soft touch on my cheek and forehead sent, 
Like little arroivs, thrills of tenderness 
Through all my frame. I trembled with excess 
Of love, and sighed the sigh of great c intent. 

When any mortal dares to so rejoice, 
I think a jealous Heaven, bending low, 
Reaches a stern hand forth and deals a blow. 
Sweet through the dusk I heard my lady's voice. 



" My love I" she sighed, " my Cirlos !" even now 
I feel the perfumed zephyr of her breath 
Bearing to me those words of livia^ death. 
And starting out the cold drops on my bro.v. 

For I am Tnul—nui Carlos ! Who is he 
That, in the supreme hour of love's delight, 
Veiled by the shadow; of the falling nighr. 
She should brcaihc low his ninio, Inrgetting lu: i 

I will not asi, her I 'twere a fruitless task. 
For, woman-like, she would make me believe 
Some well-told tale ; and sigh, ajid seem to -rieve, 
.And call me cruel. Nay, I will not ask. 



♦♦" 



"CARLOS" 




But thi« mtn Carlo, whotoe'er he b«, 
Hu turned my cup of nectar into gall, 
Since I know he has claimed tome one or all 
Of thcie delights my lady granti to me. 

He must have knelt and kissed her, in some sad 
And tender twilight, when the day grew dim. 
How else could I remind her so of him ? 
Why, reveries like these have made men mad ! 

He must have felt her soft hand on his brow. 

If Heaven were shocked at such prcsumptu-jiis 

wrongs. 
And plunged him in the grave, where he belongs. 
Still sin remtmbirs, though she loves me now. 

And if he lives, and meets me to his cost, 
Why, what avjlU it J I must hear and see 
That curst name " Carlos " always hjunling mc — 
So has another Paradise been lost. 



LA MORT D'AMOUR 

WHEN was it that love died J We were so 
fond. 
So very fond a little while ago. 
With leaping pulses, and blood all aglow, 
We dreamed about a sweeter life beyond, 



LA MORT D'AMOUR 



44 « 



IfiS, 



When we should dwell togcihcr ai one heart, 
And »c«rce could wait that happy time to conic. 
Now ilde by lidc we sit with lipi quite dumb, 

And feel ourielvcs a thousand miles apart. 

H"W was it that love died ? I do not know. 
I only know that all its grace untold 
Has faded into grey ! I miss the gold 

From our dull skies j but did not see it go. 

Why should love die .' We prized it, I am sure ; 
We thought of noihiiij! else when it was outs ;' 
We cherished it in smiling, sunlit bowers : 

It was our all ; why could it not endure ? 

Alas, we know not how, or when, or why 

This dear thing died. We only know it went. 
And left ui dull, colJ, ai.d indifferent ; 

We who found heaven once in each other's sigh. 

How pitiful it is, and yet how true 

That half the lovers in the world, one day. 
Look questioning in each other's eyes this way 

And know love's gone forever, as we do. 

Sometimes I cannot help but think, dear heart. 
As I look out o'er all the wide, sad earth 
And see love's flame gone out on many a hearth, 

That those who would keep love must dwell apart! 



44» 



LOVE'S SLEEP 



m 




LOVE'S SLEEP 
(Vcr» dt t.oi\4i«) 

WE'LL cover Love with roses 
And «weet sleep he shall uU- 
Nunc but a fool supposes 

Love always keeps awake. 
I've known loves without number - 
True loves were they, and tricJ ; 
And just for want of slumber 
The/ pined away and died. 

Our love was bright and cheerful 

A little while agone ; 
Now he is pale and tearful, 

And— yes, I've seen him yawn. 
So tired is he of kisses 

That he can only weep ; 
The one dear thing he misses 

And longs for no'.v is sleep. 

We could not let him leave us 
One time, he was so dear, 

But now it would not grieve us 
If he slept half a \ car. 



LOVE'S SLEEP 

For he has had hit leaton, 
Like the lily and the rose, 

And it but standi to ic-isun 
That he should wiui repose. 

We prired the smili ig Cupid 

Who madr ,1:1 day» so bright j 
But lie has i^rowii t-n sfipid 

We gladly sa) gno.l-i.'jht. 
And if he w. kens t:nJt:i 

And fond, and tair u', vhcii 
He filled our lives widi spiendour, 

We'll take him back a^iiii. 

And !:hould he never waKCii, 
As that perchance may be, 

We will not weep forsaken, 
But ling, " Love, tra-la-lee 1" 



44) 



TRUE CULTURE 

THE highest culture is to speak no ill ; 
The best reformer is the man whose eyei 
Are quick to see all beauty and all worth ; 
And by his own discreet, well-ordered lite. 
Alone reprovei the erring. 

When thy gaze 
Turns in on thine o.vn soul, be most severe. 



444 



THE AOLUPTUARY 



But when it falls upon a fcllow-m»n 

Let kindliness control it ; and refrain 

From that belittling censure that springs forih 

From common lips like weeds from marshy soil. 



\ V 



THE VOLUPTUARY 

OH, I am sick of love reciprocated, 
Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified. 
Life holds no thing to be anticipated, 
And I am sad from being satiificd. 




The eager joy fell clin' ; \g up a mountain 
Has left me now the ■ ghest point is gained. 

The crystal spray that fell from Fame's fair fountain 
Was sweeter than the waters were when drained. 

The gilded apple which the world calls pleasure. 
And which I purchased with my youth and strength, 

Pleased me a mom.nt. Bat the empty treasure 
Lost all its lustre, and grew dim at length. 

And love, all glowing with a golden glory, 

Delighted me a season with its tale. 
It pleased the longest, but at last the story, 

So oft repeated, to my heart grew stale. 



THE VOLUPTUARY 



4+5 



ih 
soil. 



cd. 

fountain 

Iraincd. 

sure, 
strength, 
sure 
1, 



I lived for self, and all I asked was given, 
I have had all, and now am sick of bli-.s, 

No other punishment designed by Heaven 
Could strike me half so forcibly as this, 

I feel no sense of aught but enervation 

In all the joys my selfish aims have brought. 

And know no wish but for annihilation, 

Since that would give me freedom from ilic ihou^lit 

Oh, blest is lie who has some aim defeated ; 

Some mighty loss to balance all his gain. 
For him there is a hope not yet completed ; 

For him hath life yet draughts of joy and pain. 

But cursed is he who has no balked ambition. 
No hopeless hope, no loss beyond repair, 

But sick and sated with complete fruition, 
Keeps not the pleasure even of despair. 

THE COQUETTE 

ALONE she sat with her accusing henrt. 
That, like a restless comrade, friglitcncd sleep, 
And every thought that found her left a dart 
That hurt her so, she could not even weep. 

Her heart that once had been a cup well filled 
With love's red wine, save for some drops of gall, 

She knew was empty ; though it had not spilled 
hi, sweets for one, but waited ihcm on all. 



^^6 



LIPPO 



She stood upon the grave of her dead truth, 

And saw her soul's bright armour red with rust, 

And knew that all the richei of her youth 
Were Dead Sea apples, crumbling into dust. 

Love that had turned to bitter, biting scorn. 

Hearthstones despoiled, and homes made desoljt-, 

Made her cry out that she was ever ! orn 
To loathe her beauty and to curK: her fjte. 



!- :n 



LIPPO 

"^rOW we must j-art, my Mppo. Kvcn .-.,, 
i- ^ I grieve to see thy sudden pained surprise ; 

Gaze not on me wiili nich accusing eyes 

"I'was thine own hand which d^alt dear I.o.e'-; Jcal 
blow. 



I loved thee fondly yciterjay. Till tl.en 
Thy heart was like a co\crcd golden cup 
Always above my eager lip he'd up. 
I fancied thou wen net as other men. 



1 J! In 



i' r 






I knew that heart »as filled with Love's sweet wine. 
Presscc wholly for my diinking- Aiid my lip 
Grew parched with Ihiriting lor one nectared sip 
Of what, denicvl me, ictimd a .Iraughi divi.ic. 



I.I IPO 447 

Last evening, in the g!oaml:ig, tlut cup spillc! 
Ill precious contents. Even to the lees 
Were oft"ercd to me, saying, " Drink of tl.c c '." 
And, when I ■saw it empty, Love was killed. 

No word was left unsaid, no act undone 
To prove to nic thou wcrt my ahjf.t slave. 
.Ah I Love, hads; I'liou hcen wise enough ti> ?ave 
One iiitlc dijp t.r i! ^; v. cor wine— bv;t oii'- — 

1 still had loved thee, longing for it tlitn. 
Uut even the cup is raiue. I look wiiliin. 
And find it holds n.i: one bst drop IJ «iii. 
And cast it duivn. — T;.ou art as other men. 



Lll-K IS LOVE 

IS anyune ii in the ■Aorld, I WMuJer ? 
Docs jnynne weep on a day like this. 
With the sun ab.ivi; .ind the green earth uudcr ! 
Whv, what is i.lc but a dream of bliss .' 



With the sun and the sties and the birds abcve no. 

Birds that sing as they wheel .ind By— 
With the winds tc fdl-w and ny they loved me— 

Who could be lorcly ' O lai, not I ! 



w' 


■ i 


: 


: 



448 



LIFE IS LOVE 



SomcboJ;' said i„ the ,trcct this momliig, 
As I opened my window to let in the light, 

Tliat the darkest day of the world wjs dawning j 
But I lo.Acd, and the Ea.t was a gorgeous ~\^l: 

One who 1 laims that he kn.r.vs aliuut it 
'IVlls me the Earth is a vale of sin ; 

But I and the bees and the birds — wc doubt It, 
And lliliik it a world worth living in. 

Someone lays that hearts are fickle, 
That love is sorrow, thai lilc is eare. 

And ti.e reaper Death, with his shining ,i,!>le, 
Ci.uliers whatever is bright and fair. 

I told the thrush, and we laughed together— 
I.au-!,^d till thi- woods were all a-ring j 

A.,d t,e sa.d to me, as he plumed each feather, 
"Well people must croak, if ihey cannot siu'g |" 

Up ii< flew, but his song, remaining, 
R*ng like a bell in my heart all day, 

And silenced the voices of weak complaining 
That pi^ like insects along th; way. 

O wof]4 of light, and O world of beauty I 
•^'here are there pleasures so sweet as thine t 

Yes, life IS I0V1-, and love is duly ; 

And wh»- heart sorrows t 6 „o, not mine I 



INDEX 



ACQUAINTAMCI, 2S3 

" Advire," 427 

A l.il-tle Simjj, ii^ 

A M;in's Uleal. 2\ 

A M.'irrh Snow, 4;/ 

A Marine ht, 'iin;;, .\t 

A MiHjri»h M.iui, .■■•,7 

A Plea tit Peaic, yi 

A Prayer, 146 

A Prayc. 222 

A Wnman's Ansvcr, 95 

Afliini, ir)7 

All that Love Ask--, jo 

Ambition's Ira I, jj 

An Kpi.soJe, :.'47 

An Inkpir.ttiitn, 74 

Applause, 431 

Aiipref-arion, 272 

Art I'hoii Alivf '' I SI 

Art Vfr:,ui Cup'il, t i''> 
A sertion, 1 1 
Aislstanre, 201 
Astrnlabius, 113 
At Bay, 25S 
At Fcintaincblcau, iS.j 
Attainment, ,ts 
AtlainmtTt, ^Sj 
Awakinr.l. 15S 

Battle Hymn of the Wumon, 
Bcjfin tin; I by, .13 
Be n-A Attjched, _>4fi 

"Carlos." 43S 
Chiist Crutilied, 2O4 



Chr'stfBM Fancies, 50 
Climbtntj'. 211 
fompletinn, 1 13 
C»mnii(;bt, (So 
f 'f-nsrioTisncis, 203 
i (■.>nt^;i^t^, 4'. 
" Credulity," 201 

DeaMi has Crowned Hirr 
I Martyr. 7 
, DecemUrr, 1^15 

I) saruiament, i't2 

" Dofs It Pay .■■' 71 

Dust-Scaled, 4^') 
i 

' KiTcct. 2i)S 
I Knpl:ind, Aw. da- ! .^s 

; Fate and I, 34 
, Father, -'>j 

Kcai, aty' 

liLtiun an;I lai t, ^''■9 

r.f'hsfmane, 77 

('live, 2<'^ 
• ("lod's Aii'swcr, 140 
j (lod's Kin, 17W 
j CodV Measure, 79 
j I I Grie/, 9 

Helen of Troy, 106 
Mere and Now, 'ilj 
I Her Invr. SS 
High Noon, O'"* 

449 



♦50 



INDEX 



»." 



i\ 






His Mansion, ,--o3 


M ssJon, 31 




Hoiidav SoniTb. i jo 


^!olnlr^l.' l*r;i vr, 10 




Hoiitytnotm Stni-. t -t 


Most lll.st i/He, .v^ 




Huw tl'C Ullitt: I\u.M:Caiiie, .'7-1 


My Hi-avcii, 177 
My Ships, S7 




1 am, 12 






1 know Not, z.^S 


New Thought Pastels, 195 




I l«K>k to Pciciice, 271 


New ^>:lr, wji 




If. 02 


New Years Dav. i;t 




If. Sq 


Nirvana, 1:7^ 




II Clirist i,ime Quest^Mtil ■:;, j.| j 


VmIjIcssc OOlitfe, 7.> 




Iltuaiun, \u 


Now, 29 




In an old Art Gallery, 173 






In the Nipht, 43G 


Ol.starles, 209 




Insi;:ht.03 


Only l)e StiU, 27S 




Inipiratitin, ^5 


Opportunity, 1S.1 




Interlude. 2.19 


On Si-rrnp " 1 liP II.....,, 


of 


Intermc'iiary, 186 


Julia " at HerciilaiuM 1, 
Our Sfiiils, 203 


-15 


Justice, 148 


Over the Uanisti-rs, 428 




Keep Coinp, 221 


Pardoned Out, ijg 




Knov*ledt;e, 204 


I'erfertinn, 2v^ 
riiilosupliy, 43S 




I.ais tthfn O',!, j. s 


I'ha to Science, S3 




l^js wlii-n \'ourit, In; 


1 'raver, .mo 




I a Mort d'Ani..;,!, 4 ;o 


Lieparalioii, jft 




I.Pan 1 Viwij, 433 


IVesiimptinn, -,7 




I.rfc,4.S 


I'r.-irros. iUf 




l.ifr, 17.S 


I'lOjjieisiun, jSj 




Life. 27^ 






l.ifr. 434 


Read at thr IVnetit of t 


.■iH 


life I-. a Piivilcjjc. >):! 


Morns. 2.'* 




[iff is I.'ivc. 447 


Re,il.s,.rion, n-\ 




Life's Tar. iSS 


Remfiti!jeri.d. 1 >., 




1 ifi-'s Marmonn:-., 75 


K p»t:ti -n. ^J 




Lincoln, 23S 


Re , ..8^ 




l.ipiXl. 44!) 


Kesir. -t Hon, jjo 




Lord. Spi-ak Aprm, 175 






" Lovt- is Eimu;:li," i)\ 


S-;crets, 430 




Love's Hiirial, tjo ; 


^^ec. 234 




Love's Miiaj:* , nu j 


Scstina, 72 




l^ivc's " IfCp, j.p ' 


Shadi.w;, iftn 




" J ove liiyaeif i-«,-.:, " 4) 1 


Sinus. 1S2 

SUeps 'Ire.-icl irry, 115 




NLiiir'nr. ■t.i-', | 


Siniie*. 41 




Meniurii -5, ^J3 1 


Song, H6 







r— ' 

INDEX 451 






Songofihe ?p;.i!. 17 


The Pant. 4,^0 






Surrciw's Uses, '1 


The Peasiinl^f, 74 






S'Try. M 


1 he Pnct's I h'-me. 15 






Strenatli, 197 


'1 he Pii;')!-'-.-, 2T,$ 






Summer I 'reams, ifiJ 


The Queen's l^st Ki'c.,-! 
'I'hi- Oiifstiiin. 60 






Siiinmer\ Faiewell, :;02 




3 


Syiiitatl,}-. 1.S5 


Ihc K.nliant C'hii.st, JV- 
The Hca-siffi, y> 






1 hank God for Life, <<^ 


The Hcvilt ' i VdJiti, 1.3 






Tiijiilv olivine. 4S 


The Kivi^r, S2 






The Age ot Motored ll.;!!.:-*, 


Th.- S;>ur. 137 






,<j,ii 


1 ;ic Statue, r>o 






Tlif rwnkt'n'np, 272 


The Story, 4^2 






IK- K.r;h of Jt-.ilnusy. 2"0 


■|lic StruLtuie, 202 






1 tt»' ; ri-nking of Chains, r 3 


The Icndril's Fate, 58 






•nw( rll, n? 


1 he 1 Lies, 25 




>(> of 


T:«-( h.».-nitr "' '■'slln-r, '^'> 


The Tides, iSo 




. Mj 


■Iteth.1 •n, l.iii 


Ihe Times, 59 






t tw: riii->t.an'» New ^'oar 


IheTower-Knom, jSj 






Prav-T, 415 


1 he Trip to Mais, ;. 7 






Th' Conuett. , 4 15 


i he I'ndiscovrrtd ('(Mintry, 42 






"llic Co.!, nf- 


Ihe I'liiversal Koutt-, 4', 






11..- O.iil to be *1 


The V(.i<:e, t;,S 






Ti.r lie,- ,Unr. 1^ 


Thtj Vnicc of tht; V'nicclt.' >-. :^\ 






Ihi-Kath. jS 


I hr Xuiresof the Ci.y. ■ (i 






n. i:dhl 01 l!:.- ^. s. 1 II 


I h»' \'<>iit"suf Itnplr, ^,. 






IhrKmi.tv l-..'»l. -1 


1 hr Vnluptuarv. 444 






1 lip Kirc [inuadr. J4 


"Tl. Wav." 1'" 






1 le (Hial, l^r^ 


ll'c Way, rf/- 






Miel.oal, ?fti 


liu- Wet-d. T..'. 






1 In- 1 ..catrr Lvfv. I'l^ 


Il;r \\)i,tc \Ui . :■/' 




(",-.M 


1 h- l.ili Stream. 114 


'r;,c Wi.N. f>(. 






1 he HfTcilts 144 


Ihr! Word. iO~< 






1 !'.■ Ilinin 01 tin- K, piil.iir, -r,i 


i;,.- Wor'^-ranltliP Work 1 vi 






ll.r l..„Wer, ISI 


1 le W»r!d-( hi!.!. 1,; 






! 11. UmiH B-^twt-en. 101 


Thi; Woild r.r.«\\^ H, uci . Ji 






1, ."!.»>• 201 


ilu•^^oiM■s Nicd. ',: 






lie U-...I' r 1,. i«: i-r 


1 lure is no Ocath, tltcit: jr^ 






Ihe r,onil.n" l'.i,!,l ,,' .-.-.t 


no Dead, 21 1 






llw Mai. ,on, t.-oS 


IhoM^'ht-Macnt-ts, ^ .. 






1 hp Nt,,>.(ucradi*, 1.^5 


ihi.-r I-'iirndfl, (/■ 






Tise Mi-rrtn^of tlie d nturi'-s. 4 


Tiirfr rhinjjs, 20<) 






1 ht- Nam^-les^i, iOg 


Thio'iih Tears, ^o 






Th.- \ .-.Mtlie \V,.(: 1, on 


Thy >li.i>. 4; 






1 ttr New ' ommandit'i'it, i : 


! iri^e 1 iii'irh, i;r) 






I li,- ^.-iv Hawaii*n t.i.ii, * / 


^ru•■\\^^k'Ht,2^ 






JixOimnutt, T3 


Times Gaze, 14^1 




^ 





<! 



45" 

To an Aitroloffer. 57 
To-Dav, 13J 
Irue BrotherhtHxl, 174 
True Culture, 443 
Tworihosts, 336 
Two Men, 377 

Unanswered Prayers, 41 
L'f';- luered, 6^ 
Tni ntrolleil, 55 
r... rstood, 307 

'}'? Twi), 14 

'A hat is ri^ht Livinp, 147 



INDEX 



What wr NVcrl, Ra 

When the Kcpiincntcame Back 

Which are Yo.i? 63 
Who i^ a Christian ? 155 
Will. 56 
Wishiny, 13 
Women, 3J0 
WomanhiH)H, iS 
Woman to Man, 37 
Words, 33 

V lu and To-dny, iq 
Vou nevei can Icll, A7 



ilSri 



mi 



riitiit.1 in Gieai lti>*.iiii by W. & J. AAalkay & Cu., Lid-, Ch.<iUaiii.